Divided Land, Divided Hearts
by Pingtunglong
Summary: Sequel to 'New Friends, New Enemies.' One year ago, a fresh group of Sarmatians - and a woman warrior - had joined Arthur's knights at the Hadrian's Wall. This story is a retelling of the events of the movie including the new characters. Story follows Tristan's perspective. Rated T - fighting, action, angst and footnote topics - environment and social issues. Tristan/OC
1. Eve of Freedom

Author's Notes:

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters Arthur and his knights. They are from the movie 'King Arthur'. I own the new characters. I have done some historical research for place names, events etc, and any inaccuracies are my own. Story is much darker in tone – in contrast to the prequel - to reflect the movie itself. Pace is of course much faster, also to reflect the movie.

I loved this movie for more than a retelling of the Arthurian legend, great fighting and locations and of course, the hunky Mads Mikkelsen as Tristan! I find this movie compelling because it is set in a time when the Roman Empire was withdrawing from its provinces in Britain. This was a time of great upheaval and opportunity when old order dissolved, and individuals and peoples had the opportunity of making radical changes for better or worse.

I find a striking parallel between this period and our current time as global challenges of resource depletion, weak economy, erratic climate, stressful lifestyles, peak oil and a host of other ailments threaten our own existence but at the same time suggest a paradigm change. So the story is somewhat allegorical and peppered with references from my readings. If my writing is too ham handed, please pardon, but I hope you will enjoy reading. Comments are welcome!

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Fifteen years had finally dwindled down to a day. It was a clear morning in late fall. Eburacum had sent word ahead of Bishop Germanus. Arthur, red cape flying behind him like a banner, and his six British knights – Lancelot, Tristan, Bors, Dagonet, Gawain and Galahad - rode South across fields at a long gallop to meet the man who was coming to deliver them their discharge papers. They could have waited at the fort for after all the Bishop Germanus had his own escort of Roman soldiers. He was, however, a friend of Arthur's late father and the knights had been waiting for fifteen long years, fighting Woads and burying friends, for the documents he carried. Aside from that there was the fact that Woads had become bold of late, harrying Roman caravans far South of the Wall as if they too knew that Rome was leaving soon. Rumors were thick enough.

Tristan, the company's silent and observant scout, again wondered privately why a high ranking bishop would be making such a lengthy and possibly dangerous journey to deliver papers that could have been sent by a courier instead. He had kept his unease from the others though Dani had confided to him that she too found it strange and attributed it to the Roman eccentricity. Arthur of course assumed that the bishop's arrival would have something to do with change of command at the Wall where he had been in charge for more than a decade. He refused to believe that the Empire would completely abandon the frontier so many had died to defend, including his own father.

Tristan glanced around at his brothers and reflected that it was just like old times, before Senna and his company had come into their lives, welcome though they were. The Baltic knights – Senna, Percy, Gault and Eric, along with the Persian woman warrior Dani – had arrived at Badon fort a year ago from their previous posting in the remote Baltic region. They had been reposted following a battle that left their company severely short of men and the outpost abandoned. Their lately joined brothers had no business with the Bishop Germanus as they had four more years of service to Rome left. Arthur had given them the choice of remaining at the fort. They all had work to keep them busy.

Senna, the senior most among them, had become indispensable to Arthur in running the fort. He was frantically trying to wrap up several building projects, presiding over his workmen like a tyrannical camp supervisor, alternately threatening and pleading. Eric, youthful at twenty one with long dark hair, and older Gault, close in age to Gawain, added their efforts to the crew of auxiliaries and workmen laboring under Senna, more to calm their friend than to do the actual work. Right now the man was occupied with completing excavations for additional drainage channels for the fort latrines. Drainage channels to the latrine clogged often, a nasty business to clean.

'I don't want them crossing the sewers and the supply lines, sir,' he had told Arthur, looking harried and cross.

'Heaven forbid,' Lancelot had shuddered while Arthur excused the man and Gawain cracked a rude joke about Bishop Germanus using the latrine.

Percy the surgeon was busy at the clinic. At the best of times it was a chaotic place. Lately there had been an increase in patients as word had spread that the knights were leaving. Thirteen year-old apprentice Two was kept busy helping to wrap linen, boil water, fetch and carry, clean up, administer salves and soothe rattled nerves. Percy's servant Alan and Dani had been pressed into service helping with the patients.

For a change Tristan did not mind Dani's preference for the dour surgeon. He remembered the reason and joy washed over him like a wave. He was now a married man of scant two days. News traveled faster than horses it seemed, for when they returned to Badon a few days ago from their mission in Luguvalium, the fort was already abuzz with his betrothal to Dani and Lancelot's tryst with Rigana, a wealthy widow at that city. She had bedazzled the flirtatious knight and he had championed her entry into the city's council. Privately the scout thought that she was the best addition to that sad lot. She had bold ideas that she had proceeded to put into action. Lancelot had been somewhat sheepish on his return. He had previously been wooing the Persian woman but now she teased him along with everyone else. He had offered a word of embarassed congratulations to the scout, glad that he wasn't the only one in the news.

Tristan and Dani had formally asked Arthur for permission to wed sometime before they left on their long journey to Rome, which as their commander he had legal right to deny. He did not, but it was Percy who put his foot down regarding when. Arthur had called a meeting right after their return and it was then and there that Percy declared dourly that he didn't want to have to 'walk into my clinic every morning and throw someone out who did not belong there.' That Percy would do so was not in doubt and he had the physique to manage such a feat.

Dani, lone woman at the fort, lived in the clinic. A shout of laughter went up while Tristan raised his glass in acknowledgement of a hit. Percy was Christian, a stickler for propriety and Dani's adopted family – older brother, uncle and guardian dragon. Arthur acceded and since both bride and groom were willing, a private ceremony was held that evening, presided over by a gently beaming Arthur. As private as it could be - thought Tristan - with all the knights, Vanora, her children, a crew of auxiliaries and assorted curious hangers on in attendance.

By mutual agreement, the simple ceremony was held in the grassy hill outside the fort where generations of knights rested for eternity. It was a civil ceremony for Tristan had not worshipped the gods of his ancestors for a long time and Dani said quietly that while she still prayed to Fire and the Elements, her religion had no place here in these hills. Nor did they want prayers said to Roman or Celt gods. So in the end, Arthur said a few brief words about friendship, love, courage and steadfastness while the couple held hands facing each other by the flickering lights of hand held torches and distant stars. Vanora leaned her head on the shoulders of an uncomfortable looking Bors, unwed father of her numerous offspring, and shed tears of happiness.

There was a noisy celebration after but even Tristan could not be so churlish as to deny his brothers merry making and boisterous games on that evening. He did put his foot down at dancing though and was content to watch his bride whirl around with the younger knights to a rousing beat, laughing and blushing at their teasing. She looked radiant in an old rust-colored gown, flowers woven in braided hair, and he turned his head to see a wistful expression on the face of Lancelot. Tristan intervened at last after she had too many mugs of ale and carried her off to her apartment in the clinic, hastily decorated by some of her women friends, resolutely ignoring the catcalls, advice and whistles while an uncharacteristically shy Dani buried her face in his shoulder.

The knights paused at a rise. All eyes strained towards a caravan guarded by Roman cavalry in scarlet uniforms coming up the road from the direction of Eburacum, which lay farther South. A suppressed excitement gripped all of them, even the stoic scout. The caravan spotted them and slowed down. Bors said he could smell freedom, giving voice to what they all thought. They were free and they were going home to Sarmatia, far away to the East.

Tristan yanked his thoughts from pleasant reminiscing to the present and raked back long braided hair from his face. Piercing eyes peered out through unruly bangs above tattooed cheekbones. His time in Britain had come to an end and they were leaving the settlements along the Wall somewhat prepared to defend themselves. He had made his choice. He would follow Dani, Arthur and the rest of the Baltic knights to Rome. He still dreaded the idea of going to Rome, but he had come to terms with it. His dream of returning to Sarmatia, perhaps with a family, was still alive. All was well in Tristan's world.

An arrow toppled one of the riders.

Author's note:

Latrines in Roman forts had running water to flush the toilets and clogged often. The disgusting work of cleaning floors and unclogging (yuck!) pipes was assigned to soldiers as punishments for petty misdemeanorsJ


	2. Bishop Germanus

Author's note:

Some of the dialogue hereon throughout the rest of the chapters is from the movie 'King Arthur'.

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'Woads!' yelled the scout. Arthur and the knights spurred the horses into a furious gallop, charging headlong towards the road. Even as they neared the caravan, confusion reigned. Woads had appeared from nowhere running towards the caravan and taking advantage of the element of surprise by cutting down the Roman cavalry. They attacked with a singular ferocity unreserved for anything but the hated scarlet uniform, and many riders went down without a chance to respond.

Deadly missiles flew from behind the tree cover where more waited no doubt and Tristan shot down several that he spotted. Then it was hand-to-hand combat. The scout jumped down from his mount, as some of the others were doing, and drew the scimitar from its scabbard on his back. He parried blows with deadly grace and icy composure, offering deadly strikes in return in contrast to the frenzied attack of his opponents. From time to time he glimpsed his brother knights dispatching the enemy with lethal efficiency. Finally the clamor of battle died down and the scout swung in a circle, coming to rest on seeing Arthur holding his sword Excaliber at the throat of an enemy. The man - covered in blue paint, splotches of blood and furious pride - was on his knees, glaring at Arthur and challenging him to kill.

Arthur had no eyes for him, though. The commander of the knights was scanning the trees through a thinning mist, the challenge on his own face directed to someone else, someone who he knew was watching from the trees. Tristan clearly saw the determination and the challenge on his leader's face for he was looking back at him, from a far distance, every detail on his features etched in curiously sharp relief. Very slowly Arthur lowered the sword from the man's neck and backed away, still looking into the trees. Tristan shook his head, wondering if he had taken a blow to it. The Woad was still on his knees, shaken from the encounter and stunned at being still alive. When the scout looked at Arthur again, he was looking into the Bishop's carriage.

'That's not the Bishop,' he told Bors and walked towards the remaining riders. One of the riders, a man in an officer's uniform, took off his helmet. He was sprite for his age, which showed in his graying beard and lined countenance. Bishop Germanus, Tristan knew without having to be told. His hackles rose for no apparent reason while the Arthur greeted the bishop and the man looked over the knights critically. He had felt the same way many months ago when he first spotted the man who had turned out to be a Saxon scout.

He was glad when Arthur commanded him to ride ahead and make sure the way was clear for that frisson of unease was back in his stomach. He whistled his to his mare and mounted swiftly, noting with a practiced eye a few scratches that needed tending. He spied the hawk gliding in the direction of the fort before disappearing over the treetops, and followed, leaving behind the scene of carnage.

Tristan pounded up the road until he could see the outline of Badon fort, and then reigned in his horse on the roadway just outside of tree cover. He could feel eyes watching and he deliberately made himself visible, staring into the darkness of the forest. If they were going to renew attack, they would do so on a lone rider. He saw movement in the dense undergrowth, on slopes covered with tangled vines, but no arrow flew out to meet him. The movement seemed to be away from the edges of the forest. So. They had enough for today, probably. It was hard to tell with Woads. Tristan turned back to the caravan to tell them the road was clear.

When he rejoined the knights, Arthur was overseeing a recovery of the bodies of the Roman soldiers, a grim task he oversaw with the same sense of responsibility with which he undertook all his duties. One horse had to be put down and the remaining rider-less horses rounded up. The surviving Roman soldiers were shaken. Except for a few close to the uniformed Bishop, the rest had been commandeered from one of the Southern outposts, and here in Britain some of them would now lie. As would the hapless decoy inside the carriage, shot through the head. The scout's lips curled at the thought of a leader who would order his underling to take his place as target. How different from Arthur.

With the bodies loaded onto the backs of the horses, and a few wounded helped back onto theirs, the party headed back towards Badon fort in a very different frame of mind than when the knights had set out. The Bishop seemed oddly cheerful, in spite of losing men under his command, attempting some small talk with a couple of the knights. Lancelot rode next to him, seeing that Arthur was in no mood for it presently, answered some polite questions about British weather, the Wall, native Celts and local cuisine. The man must have missed the wolfish glint in Lancelot's eyes and Arthur's grimness.

The sudden deliberate attack by Woads to kill - not harass or loot - worried Arthur, Tristan knew as the Bishop could not from one look that the leader exchanged with his scout. Merlin, that mystical figure who was said to be a magician, led the Woads. Tristan recalled the power that had emanated from the man when he had been face to face with him that one time a few months ago. Merlin had hinted at an alliance between the diverse peoples of Britain, but the savagery of the attack this morning flew in the face of that hinted at offer.

Tristan drew up next to Gawain and Galahad, deep in an argument from the sound of it. But then Galahad often was deep in an argument, he thought, and was taken aback when suddenly he himself was the target of the young knight's rants.

'Killing is not something I enjoy,' Galahad said to Gawain, and turning his head towards Tristan added, 'unlike some.' Tristan was still feeling unsettled from his doubts about Merlin as well as his own impending departure for Rome. He responded sharply instead of letting it slide.

'You should try it,' he retorted. 'You might learn to like it.' Wisely, Galahad shut up. Tristan heard the familiar swish of wings and held out his gloved left arm with a whistle for the hawk. The calming feathered weight landed lightly on the scout's forearm.

'Where have you been?' He asked, heart lifting as it always did when he saw the wild creature that had befriended him so long ago. She was his oldest friend, from the time when he and the others were boys crossing a vast continent on their way to Britain, and he was as yet too inhibited to talk to the others.

The knights rode in through the wrought iron gates of Badon fort and clattered to a stop in the courtyard of the headquarters cum offices where Arthur and all the knights lived. Arthur preferred to live in the same cramped quarters as his men, leaving the luxurious fort commanders house to be converted into a clinic, run by Percy and Dagonet, and helped by Bors' daughter Two, Dani and occasionally Aili the town midwife.

The courtyard was even more cramped today with the Bishop and his entourage. Jols greeted Arthur and the commander of the knights gave him orders to see to the Bishop's men and horses, and their dead who were to be buried in the fort cemetery. Gault and a sober looking Eric volunteered for the grim task of overseeing burials with help from the surviving Roman soldiers. The wounded were sent to the clinic and horses led away by Gilly, Jols' assistant. Jols himself showed the Bishop and his secretary to Arthur's own quarters, not that his eminence would likely find them satisfactory after the sumptuous living in Rome, thought Tristan with another curl of his lips.

Like others serving at the frontier, the scout led a Spartan existence and felt distaste for the excesses of Rome that they all heard about. Arthur, however, liked to talk about the arts, culture, feats of architecture and engineering, philosophy and debate that existed in Rome. He would see it soon enough, thought the scout not too eagerly, and followed the rest of the knights to the stables to settle their own horses, and see to their injuries, if any. Sarmatians tended their own horses; it was bred into them. By the time they moved to the bathhouse to wash off blood and grime, the knights were cheerful again. The hawk flapped her wings so Tristan took her to his room where she had a perch.

He went to see Dani right after, clean but still feeling the foul taste of blood in his mouth. The woman was cutting open the sleeves of a wounded soldier and preparing to wash it from a bowl of medicated water held by Two. Percy was offering his ungentle ministrations to another unlucky soul. The clinic staff had been preparing for their noon meal break when the wounded arrived. Dani had met them at the courtyard but had disappeared with Percy to see to the wounded after assuring herself that Tristan was not among them. The woman flashed a smile at him and Percy a scowl at the interruption.

'Later,' she mouthed and he left, grinning into his beard, feeling better just for the sight of her.

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Author's note:

In the movie, all the bodies just get left on the battlefield to be picked up by the production crew LOL!


	3. Horton Has a Hoot

Author's notes:

This movie is so intense; I thought it needs a few lighthearted moments before the BIG BAD news. Enjoy!

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The last few days had been a whirl. The party that had gone to Luguvalium – Tristan, Dani, Dagonet, Lancelot, Eric and Galahad – had returned only a week or so ago. There was the usual bedlam of settling down after a month away – personal chores of seeing to clothes, gear and horses. There were also working out new duty rosters for the remaining days and handing over duties to a skeleton staff that would remain at the fort. In addition each of them had personal reports for Arthur on their mission, which had been to arrange for trade between the fort towns and bolster the safety of Luguvalium which no longer had Roman military presence, the fort there being long abandoned.

Tristan and the younger knights had helped the 'city guard' – a ragtag band of ruffians –shape up their sorry selves and shore up the city's fortifications. Dagonet had helped the clinic run by Christian monks and brought back new knowledge. Dani had patiently made copies of medical texts and brought back herb cuttings. Lancelot had sat through endless town meetings, romanced Rigana and returned with a sore heart and renewed impatience 'to be gone from this dreary island'.

Then there had been the swift wedding that occupied everyone, including of course the bride and groom. Senna had been meticulous in planning the departure of the knights and their retinue of family, auxiliary soldiers and others who wished to follow. There was not much for the rest of the knights to do except to pack their personal gear and say farewells. So it was for the first time in more than a week, and the day before their long anticipated departure, that Tristan found some time on his hands. And the wife predictably busy in the clinic, he reflected ruefully, scratching his beard.

He made a tour of the fort, watching men at work and wondered again how it would be to live a life away from the Wall, away from Britain. It had been a prison for half his life, a graveyard for many friends and a home where he had found love and laughter. A string of refined curses cut through his reverie. They were coming from the latrine. He frowned – it was the one that Senna had shut down since it was still being worked on.

In short order he rescued a very cross secretary to the Bishop, a man whose name he learned was Horton, from a waterless latrine whose outflow pipes had clogged. Gawain - and probably Gault - had gone too far, he decided, in directing the man here and telling him that water would be restored shortly. It reflected badly on Arthur if his senior officers played childish pranks on guests, no matter how disliked.

While the discharge papers were still in the Bishop's hands it was better to be politic, so he took the man to Percy. The surgeon, a Christian convert, had been heard expressing the desire to converse with the Bishop. Of course Arthur would probably offer his own escort to the Bishop for the return journey, thought Tristan glumly, disliking the idea already.

'Join us for lunch, we are done here,' Percy said to Tristan and Horton, and then added belatedly, 'Or I can take Dagonet.' The newlyweds would no doubt want to spend time together. Dani shifted mischievous eyes to where Aili the midwife, a petite woman in her late twenties, was helping Dagonet sort and pack the vast supply of herbal medicine and esoteric paraphernalia no one else was allowed to touch. Some of it would remain in the fort clinic, some would be packed onto wagons and some would go with the healers' cart for patients.

Aili had been helping at the clinic a lot lately, Tristan realized. Indeed the clinic was fairly crawling with staff as well as patients – Dani with Percy and Aili with Dagonet, Two fetching, carrying and cleaning, Percy's servant Alan to lend his brawny arms when some unlucky soul needed surgery and Eric intermittently underfoot. With some amusement he decided that Aili probably needed privacy to talk to the clueless Dagonet. Apparently he wasn't the only slow one!

'I will come,' said the scout, crooking a finger at Two. Her eyes lit up to be included with the grownups. Percy dismissed Alan.

There was a festive air in town and fort duties relaxed. Many of the auxiliaries were to join Arthur's party to the South shores of Britain, some to their new posts and some bound for home after long service. There were many bittersweet scenes of farewells; of British wives and their children who were leaving their parental families and British born soldiers who were leaving home.

Many eateries advertised special fares and amusements such as juggling, clowns and mimes. The young quartet of knights and inseparable friends – Gault, Gawain, Galahad and Eric - hailed them from such a place. Empty salvers and mugs lay scattered on the table.

Two wanted to see jugglers and Eric went off with her. Usually calm for her age, Two was simultaneously sad and excited at leaving the only place she had known and journeying to her father's lands. She and Eric had become unlikely friends and she was unhappy that they would go separate ways. Eric was fond of his young admirer too, much to and in spite of his older friends' disdain.

Gault snickered at Horton and made a rude noise into his drink. Gawain cuddled the curvaceous blonde next to him for the benefit of their guest, a man of cloth. Horton sniffed, sat himself down delicately and made a big deal of ignoring the insults.

'What are the newlyweds doing here?' Galahad asked, making kissing sounds for Horton's benefit. They were keen on riling Horton some more.

'Shouldn't you be eager for privacy?' added Gault snidely.

'Sure you're old but you can still ….ahh,' Gawain's next words were choked when Tristan leaned forward and jabbed two stiff fingers into his windpipe.

'Pardon our friend,' Dani said pleasantly to Horton, 'while he is choking.'

'On his own foot as usual,' added Percy with disgust.

'What's the fare?' asked Tristan calmly while Gawain coughed and rubbed his bruised windpipe. Galahad and Gault wisely shut up.

'Stewed rabbit with boiled roots, ale or punch for drink,' said a harried looking serving girl, passing a tray of drinks. She slapped at Galahad and added, 'And no pinching.'

'British ale,' said the secretary fussily, sniffing his drink and resolutely ignoring the byplay put up for his benefit. 'I long to be back in Italia, to drink proper wine, if nothing else.' Gault crossed his eyes and Gawain rolled his.

'Inferior quality,' agreed the surgeon gloomily, taking a sip of his drink. He usually ate in his own quarters and drank rarely.

'I hear Falernian wine is available – special for today,' said Dani.

'It's expensive,' Gawain told her gloomily. Neither he nor Gault ever had much money, spending their pay too freely and quickly in town.

'You haven't been saving your pay?' Dani teased. 'How will you marry that beautiful Sarmatian girl for Lancelot?' Gawain often talked wistfully about finding a beautiful Sarmatian girl to marry, and Lancelot promptly offered to father her children.

'I will treat you,' Percy offered unexpectedly. 'A wedding gift.' The young knights' eyes lit up at his generosity. Percy went to the counter to pay. Expensive items had to be paid for first.

'How do you stand him, Dani?' asked Galahad, deciding it was safer to make fun of the dour surgeon, albeit in absentia, than the scout. 'So uptight, and so … Christian.' The girl with Gawain giggled and Horton stiffened.

'He has his moments,' Dani told them, eyes dancing wickedly in an olive complexioned face as the surgeon returned to his seat.

'Here you go, sirs,' the harried looking serving girl came back with their drinks, once again batting away Galahad's wandering hand while setting down brimming mugs, beautiful ceramic beakers fit for a celebratory occasion. 'Just as you ordered.'

'Mmmmm,' Gault sniffed appreciatively.

'Um .. thanks Percy,' Gawain had the grace to say as the company quaffed their drinks and once again congratulated the newlyweds, this time wisely omitting any reference to their age or suggestions as to their free time. At Percy's nod, the serving girl refilled the young trio's beakers. Shortly after the three stopped joking and frowned. In less time than that they were leaving, muttering unlovely excuses. Gawain's girl squawked in surprise and irritation at being shoved away unceremoniously. Tristan sent a questioning look towards Percy. The surgeon took out a small pouch and upended it to show it was empty.

'They will recover,' Percy explained with a shrug. 'In time for dinner.'

'What was it?' asked Tristan, sniffing his own drink suspiciously.

'Laxative,' explained Percy, passing a generous tip on to the serving girl. 'The boys need to shed some …. attitude.' Horton sniffed in satisfaction. Dani shook with silent mirth and Tristan's pressed his lips together.

'Why are those three in a hurry?' asked Eric, arriving at their table and jerking a thumb towards his departing trio of friends.

'Percy had one of his moments,' Tristan informed him dryly.

Author's notes:

Roman forts had latrine blocks with open toilets – a series of wooden seats over a drain that was continually flushed by water flowing from an aqueduct. Sponges were used in lieu of toilet paper and washed in another channel flowing in front of the seats. So you lighten and socialize at once. While very community minded and efficient with regards to time, this had the problem of no privacy. BTW this is another reason Dani gets to stay in the clinic, which is the re-purposed fort commander's house. So she doesn't have to use the men's bathroom! Details, details.

While we are on the topic of flushing toilets, I cannot but mention our own unquestioned habit of …er … lightening, in potable water, yes the planet's shrinking drinking water supply. 'The Humanure Handbook' by Joseph Jenkins details energy wasted by the necessity of having to clean this 'black' water, the chemicals that end up in the water supply as a result and loss of nutrients – yes, our waste is nutrient – from the soil.


	4. Discharge Papers

Author's Notes:

Ceffylgwyn – I decided to marry them off. I thought both Tristan and my readers deserved a break from my awkward romance writing:(

I am glad you note my point at the end. We humans have broken nature's cycle of regeneration – returning nutrients to soil - and thus we have 'waste'. As an Aussie, you might be interested to know that it is an Aussie – Bill Mollison - who introduced 'permaculture' to the Western world. Permaculture uses nature's regenerative principles to design human life, e.g. composting to enrich soil.

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That evening Arthur called a meeting of the round table. The knights filed in and waited with Arthur for the Bishop to arrive. The company was in a good mood. The British knights were impatient for their discharge papers, and the Baltic knights – who had four more years of service left – were following Arthur to Rome. So was Tristan, to be with his wife. From long habit, Tristan covertly observed his companions.

From time to time Eric asked solicitously of Gawain, Gault and Galahad whether the plumbing in the newly renovated latrine was working, if they were in a lighter frame of mind, would they care for wine after etc. The three did not answer, and Percy ignored their murderous glances. They were not about to confront the surgeon though. The man was built like an ox and used to wrestling down strong men while operating on them. In his way, he was as unpredictable as the scout.

While Bors laughed loudly with Eric and Senna grinned, the scout noted an absent look on Dagonet's face. Lancelot was on edge, his disquiet apparent in the controlled way he handled his wineglass. Tristan shrugged and turned to Dani who sat next to him quietly enjoying the banter. Over the chatter, he felt a warm glow suffuse him.

Clad in the finery of his office, a frowning Bishop halted in front of the round table. His frown became even more pronounced at the sight of the woman who sat at the table at equal terms with the men. She stared back unabashed, used to Roman officials from her long years of service. Whatever gracious speech he had in mind eluded him.

'It's a woman!' he hissed, distaste showing in his voice. Servers walked around the table, discreetly setting down glasses of wine.

'I try my best,' answered Dani sweetly, eyes dancing with merriment and challenge.

'She is one of my company,' broke in Arthur in a tone that brooked no challenge. He would not let any criticize whom he saw fit to include in that company, even his guest and late father's friend.

'Of course, of course,' the Bishop let it go, with poor grace and a false smile. 'You run things differently here in the wild frontiers, eh?' Tristan thought the Bishop must have had grave matters to discuss to let it go so easily. The man seated himself next to Arthur at the commander's urging. His next words were also unfortunate.

'There are more of you than I thought,' said the Bishop. Clearly the number of discharge papers did not tally with the number sitting at the table. Arthur frowned at the reminder of men dead under his command.

'We were joined last year by five from the Rhenus-Danuvius _limes_ to the East.' Arthur gestured and the five inclined their heads with guarded expressions. 'They are following me to Rome to complete their terms of service.' The Roman Empire was, since many generations, divided into several smaller empires for ease of maintaining order. The Baltic knights were from the Eastern parts.

'Yes, yes,' said the Bishop. Pointedly ignoring Dani, he added, 'Rome needs good men.' Tristan and Dani exchanged an amused look.

What followed next was small talk about the glory of Rome, Arthur's duty to his God, honor and wealth that awaited the commander in Rome etc. Tristan's thoughts wandered a bit – Rome was lately on his mind too - until Lancelot interrupted with sharp words.

'Day, not days,' said the curly haired knight, eyes glittering. Gawain and Galahad leaned forward, with questioning looks. Bors' forehead knitted in consternation and Dagonet slowly put down his drink. Arthur looked askance at the Bishop and Tristan went still. The Baltic knights shrugged and sipped their drinks.

At the Bishop's gesture, his secretary opened the scroll case he was carrying with a flourish. All eyes went to the six scrolls of parchment they held, Tristan's intense and narrowed. Instead of handing them out, the Bishop continued with his speech – how Rome was beset with invaders and the empire was withdrawing from indefensible outposts, such as Britain etc.

'We'll just leave the land to Woads?' Galahad broke in to argue.

Tristan wondered if the boy would ever be happy. He himself bristled at the Bishop's careless dismissal of Britain and wondered where it was leading. He listened for things left unsaid while voices were raised in discord. The case was shut and taken away. Confusion appeared on the faces of the British knights.

'I must speak privately with you,' the Bishop said to Arthur, shedding his affable mask. The man had news the knights would not take kindly, thought Tristan. Simultaneously he felt sympathy for Arthur and a renewed sense of unease.

'We have no secrets here,' said Arthur, leveling the man with an unblinking stare. Disappointment showed in his face at Rome's decision to abandon Britain. Several of the knights looked rebellious, and impatient. Lancelot decided the matter.

'Let's leave Rome's business to Romans,' he said, mockingly raising a toast to his commander before leaving. Arthur and his closest friend and advisor had been locking horns lately, sometimes bitterly, Arthur's belief in Rome's goodness, justice and honor at infuriating odds with the other man's sense of wrongness and injustice that had been meted out to conquered people. The bitterness that had crept into their frequent arguments of late jarred the rest of the close-knit company at times, and they dropped their gaze at the latest volley.

Tristan bent his head to Arthur in respect, dropping his gaze to signify support to his commander. The others strode out as well, the Baltic knights looking puzzled and the British knights simmering in anger. Outside the meeting room, Dani touched his elbow, her face puckered in thought.

'How does he know about the Saxon army?' She asked him.

The Bishop had said that a massive Saxon incursion that had already begun in the North. What he left unsaid was how he knew about it.

Author's notes:

In the absence of satellite imagery, how did the Bishop have such up to date information of the location of the Saxon army? Read on. I shall try to close this plot hole as well :)

Rhenus-Danuvius _limes_ = Rhine and Danube rivers marked Rome's frontier to the North in Europe and were guarded by a line of watchtowers on the South sides of the rivers. Dani and her friends were stationed previously near where the Danube empties into the Black Sea. _Limes_ means earthwork or barrier, also refers to frontier since defensive earthworks marked the frontier. Hadrian's Wall was a _limes_.

The Roman Empire declined (at least the Western part) over a period of around 250 years, a very long time. 'The Collapse of Complex Societies' by Joseph Tainter is a study of how empires, which are complex societies, collapse. Complexity includes such things as size, population, levels of organization, hierarchy, notable personalities, occupations etc. A hunter-gatherer society is the simplest.

Human societies tend to increase in complexity because initially it yields high returns. For example as Romans conquered more territories, they had more wealth in currencies, slave labor, grains, natural resources, recruits for the army etc. But complexity also leads to increase in bureaucracy, cost to suppress rebellions, repel invaders and maintain communication etc. Past a point, return becomes increasingly marginal. When this is combined with catastrophic events such as natural disasters, wars, epidemics, crop failures etc, the complex society starts to unravel. Empires begin strategic withdrawals from indefensible – and depleted - outposts. Britain was abandoned after much of its wealth – metals such as silver, lead, tin, copper etc – had already been extracted.

'Catabolic collapse' is the term used by John Michael Greer to explain this process of unraveling in his book 'The Long Descent: A User's Guide to the End of the Industrial Age'. Of course he is referring to the age that we are living in as we too face the limits to our civilization's growth due to the high costs of maintaining it – in terms of energy, water, waste produced, soil depletion, species loss etc and ultimately our own stressful, debt-ridden, long-commute lifestyles.

A lot of books have been written about how to transition to a more sustainable, stable and equitable society - as opposed to spiraling unchecked into a chaotic one (think 'Mad Max') - as we face the inevitable descent of our own times. Obviously it is we humans as a species who must power down our resource consumption.

Many people have been forced into making lifestyle changes due to financial challenges. Some of us are lucky enough to be able to choose our own 'strategic withdrawals' from a life of costly excess – finding simplicity, happiness and creativity in living a less consumerist lifestyle. Think gardening!

Some wonderful resources:

Toolbox for Sustainable City Living

The New Normal: Agenda for Responsible Living – David Wann

Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture – Shannon Hayes

The Urban Homestead – Kelly Coyne & Erik Knutzen

Depletion and Abundance: Life on the New Home Front - Sharon Astyk

I Garden: Urban Style – Reggie Solomon & Michael Nolan

Your Money or Your Life – Vicki Robin and Joe Dominguez

Much information, and hope, can be found in the 'Transition Towns Network' - initiatives at town and neighborhood levels to raise awareness, share knowledge and resources, and relearn valuable skills.

Onwards with the story! Feedback is most welcome.


	5. Dissonant Notes

Tristan and Dani followed their friends to Vanora's tavern, both lost in their own thoughts. Soldiers typically ate in the barracks mess. The knights, by long custom, dined at the tavern, part of a barrack long in disuse and converted into kitchen, store and outdoor dining. The fort staff had dwindled over the years and many buildings sat empty. The scout did not always prefer the rowdiness of the tavern but this evening he looked forward to the distraction. So did the woman by his side, absently chewing her lips.

Despite the discordant notes at Arthur's meeting, the Sarmatians were in a jovial mood. That could be because of a liberal amount of ale already consumed in anticipation of their long awaited honorable discharge. They were confident that Arthur would smooth out the wrinkle with the Bishop, whatever it was. Not so Tristan. He leaned against a post to watch, while peeling an apple with his eating knife. Dani relaxed by his side.

Lancelot pulled Vanora into his lap, hoping to provoke Bors into some silliness. Vanora slapped him handily and flounced off. Bors was seen comparing Lancelot's features with Baby Eleven; Lancelot often claimed to have fathered one or more of Bors' brood with the beautiful Vanora. At least he no longer deluged Dani with nauseating flattery, thought the scout, putting an arm around her and drawing her close. She snuggled against him, contentedly kissing the tattoo on his cheek.

Percy joined Dagonet at the bar. For some time the surgeon had been trying to persuade his fellow healer to come to Rome with him. This had exacerbated the friction between Bors and Percy. Bors and Dagonet were close friends since both were boys, until Percy appeared and the kind hearted Dagonet's attention was divided.

For a while Bors had been grateful to Percy; the surgeon had saved Vanora in her difficult delivery of baby Eleven. The truce was short lived. Percy scorned Bors as a boor and a bore, and Bors called Percy a 'hoof-fisted gravedigger'. Fortunately they did not see each other much. Tristan wondered what the addition of Aili in the mix would do to poor Dagonet. Aili was British born and bred, and the scout doubted she would want to leave her family to travel to distant war torn lands.

Senna relaxed with a few Greek auxiliaries – engineers most likely - still talking about pipes and flues and drainage slopes. The administrator among the knights had wrapped up the construction projects as best as he could and the rest was up to the men who would stay on at the fort – retired legionaries with families in town. Their number included skilled masons, carpenters and master builders.

The town would thrive no doubt. Tristan reflected that he had done his best to prepare the town to defend itself – his deputy for fort's security was due for retirement and would be staying on. The two of them had assembled a group of retired military men to form a militia and worked out defensive tactics.

The younger quartet of knights – Eric, Galahad, Gault and Gawain – had a lively contest of knife throwing going on, their earlier gloom erased by ale. Eric wasn't as good as the other three but game, showing off for his youthful admirer Two. The shy Thirteen year-old cheered for the youngest and most reckless knight.

Three daggers lined up along the narrow back edge of a chair. As Gault, Galahad and Gawain argued which of them won, a fourth dagger flew out to embed itself in the hilt of one. Cheers and groans erupted from the audience. Tristan's eyes went to his wife's; he couldn't help showing off a bit against the young bloods.

'How do you do that Tristan?' asked Galahad, disgusted.

'I aim for the middle,' Tristan gestured with a straight face while Dani, Eric and Two grinned and clapped.

Tristan spotted an unlikely face in the crowd – their old friend Nervic. A cavalryman in his late twenties from the Easternmost fort Segedunum, the half-Briton had become a friend to the reserved scout and his future bride while they had visited East on a mission a few months ago. Nervic worked his way through the crowd, picking up a drink on the way and exchanging hellos. He had visited Badon fort before and had charmed the crowd at dinner with his gift for gab. Dani's face lit up.

'A coincidence!' exclaimed the woman. 'I was just thinking of you!'

'Luck favors me,' Nervic replied, grinning, 'if a beautiful woman has me in her thoughts.' He had inherited the penchant for exaggeration from his mother's people, Vodatini of the Northeast.

'I wished we were able to say goodbye,' she explained, laughing, 'and here you are.'

'It was in my heart to see you as well,' replied the cavalryman, a hand over his heart and mustache quivering with amusement.

Trisan wondered what he was doing here. He liked the man. But if the Bishop's information was to be believed, all Roman personnel along the Wall should be packing to leave without delay, not visiting friends. He remembered the man's hedging when the scout had mentioned the possibility of being his recalled from Britain. There was also the fact that his people were friendly with Merlin and his Woads, who had been enemies with the knights for many years.

The Empire was being harried from many sides by Barbarian threats. Rumors had it that the capital Rome itself had been sacked. To protect its core provinces on the continent, the empire had been gradually recalling personnel from remote provinces, such as Britain. Nervic, however, was nominally Roman - son of a Roman soldier but born and bred on the Wall.

'We leave in a day or two,' Tristan spoke up. 'And you?'

'Leave for North, you mean.' Nervic said. Tristan and Dani both looked at him in surprise.

A song floated up to them, forestalling their questions. At Bors' urging Vanora, in her clear beautiful voice, sang a song as old as the word 'home'.

'Over the mountains, across the seas

We're going home, we're going home.'

Around her Arthur's knights gathered, feeling lumps constricting their throats and unashamed tears forming in their eyes. Tristan grimly concentrated on his apple, not wanting to remember that he was _not_ going home, that he was going as far from home as he could. Beside him he felt Dani start shaking and the scout kissed her on the temple, remembering with chagrin that _she_ could never go home.

In the flickering torchlight Tristan saw faces of friends glow in sharp relief, going in and out of focus, even of those facing away. He shivered with the cold premonition that not all would live to see their destination. Dani started as the scout flicked his braids back in irritation. These last few days were getting on his nerves he decided. The journey to Sarmatia, or even Rome, would no doubt be hazardous in these troubled times. Maybe he was growing old, like Gawain said.

'Arthur,' Jols called out. Arthur stood at the entrance to the tavern, wearing an expression so terrible that Tristan's premonition came flooding back.

'Knights,' Arthur began. 'I must ask you now for one further trial.'

The knights listened, incredulous and angry, while they were told that they had to complete one more mission before they were free to leave. A rescue mission far North, deep into Woad territory, to rescue a stranded Roman family. The men turned mutinous and openly challenged him.

Tristan shivered again, this time with fury at the premonition coming true. He had just begun a new life and looked forward to having a family. It was enough for him to follow Dani to Rome but to now be ordered to go on a suicide mission made him feel murderous. Dani grabbed his elbow when he started forward. Tristan caught himself before launching at Arthur.

'If it's death from a Saxon hand that frightens you,' he lashed out at Galahad instead, wanting to start a fight, 'then stay home.'

Gawain and Gault grabbed an angry Galahad and pulled him back from Tristan. Eric stepped in the way, putting both hands on the scout's shoulders. Tristan strode away, not caring where he was headed, hearing Dani's feet patter after him. After a while he let her catch up and they clung to each other, fearful and a little desperate.

'I must see Arthur,' Tristan said finally and moved out of her embrace. She looked at him for a long moment and left, heading for the clinic.

Tristan walked towards the stable, knowing somehow where to find the leader. Heated words in raised voices told him he was right. He stood in shadows; Lancelot raged futilely while Arthur entreated.

'I choose life, for myself and for the men!'

'Would you leave a defenseless family to Saxons?' Arthur willed Lancelot to understand. 'We are knights. What other purpose do we serve if not this?' His faith in Rome might be broken, but his faith in his knights was not. The scout bowed his head.

'Britain needs the lion and the lamb, warrior and nurturer, to survive,' Tristan remembered Dani quoting Merlin. The warrior serves to protect the nurturer, her voice whispered in his head, and he knew what her response to Arthur would be. He started walking away, until Lancelot caught up with him.

'Arthur wants to see you two,' Lancelot said. From the look on his face, both resigned and angered, Tristan could tell Arthur had won.

Author's note:

While the knights, i.e. warriors, serve to protect the civilians, the civilians cultivate land, produce food and crafts, and provide services for everyone. They cannot exist independent of each other. Unfortunately, movies (and stories and songs) tend to glamorize the warrior and ignore the nurturer.

My thought is that we humans have a similar relationship with nature and all the non-human species that form that web of life we are all dependent on. Humans are stewards of the land and other species, but instead of stewarding we have been dominating, exterminating and polluting. Ancient societies respected this relationship and thus they had festivals to honor nature's bounty, worshipped deities rooted in nature etc.

'Fields of Plenty' by Michael Ableman, a book of photo essays about land and the people who cultivate it got me hooked into organic growing, permaculture etc.

My blooper - in the sequel, 'New Friends New Enemies', I hinted that Vanora's tavern is in town. Outside most Roman forts was a town where all civilians including families of soldiers lived. Trade and commerce also took place here. However, from seeing the movie again, I think Vanora's tavern must be inside the fort. Ah well!

Barbarian invasions into Roman territories date from the third century.

Alaric the Visgoth sacked Rome in 410 AD.


	6. Unanswered Questions

'Sit down,' said Arthur, looking up from an old map of Northern Britain when the two scouts went to his office. In the flickering light of torches, he looked haggard and sad. He had not changed out of the ceremonial clothes he had worn in honor of the Bishop who had apparently been assigned other quarters. A broken clay tablet of Pelagius lay on table, carefully put back together. Despite himself, Tristan felt his anger melting away.

'We're coming with you, of course,' said Dani, forestalling any arguments Arthur might have. 'We're the only ones who have been North - twice.'

Tristtan nodded his assent. When all was said and done, they would all go with Arthur, even Lancelot. The rest of the knights would not survive without the scouts' guidance and knowledge. No map would do.

'We leave in the morning' Arthur sighed, rubbing his neck and looking far older than his years. 'I am sorry,' he added regretfully.

Their mission, Arthur explained, was to ride North to the villa of Marius Honorius and bring back the man and his family to safety. Marius' son Alecto was the Pope's favorite godson, the Bishop had said, and perhaps he would even be pope someday.

They talked a little longer about the road conditions, and where their destination was. From the Bishop's information it appeared that the villa was near to the coast, East of the old abandoned fort at Trimontium. They would follow Dere Street, the old Roman road that ran North all the way to the Antonine Wall, and detour East before the fort. Tristan exchanged a significant look with Dani. Neither of them missed that it was also in the vicinity where they had met Guin and where Nervic had taken them to his village.

The cavalryman had known they were going North, but the man could not be found in the fort when the two finally left Arthur and went looking for him. Tristan would have gone to town looking for him in spite of the lateness of the hour but Dani forestalled him.

'If he wished to be found,' she said, 'he would have been waiting for us.'

No one got much sleep that night. Tristan reflected grimly that it was a good thing that the knights were all packed for a journey already but said nothing to his wife. There was nothing to say and there was nothing to do. And neither of them was good at not talking about the inevitable. So they just held each other and found what comfort they could. Later while the woman slept fitfully, Tristan stayed awake listening to the sounds of a fort still very much awake, its inhabitants packing their belongings, putting away things in order, saying their goodbyes.

Now that he was calm, Tristan coldly assessed their new mission. To take the whole company into Woad country was near suicidal. There could be no hope of secrecy. The safety of the company would depend on him, as it always did. It had never bothered him before as much as it did now he knew, because of Dani. It seemed that his old life was still clinging to him and threatening the new one he was building with her. Detachedly he pondered all the unanswered questions.

Arthur himself had not known about Marius Honorius, and how the family survived in Woad country. The Bishop somehow knew of the imminent Saxon attack from the North, indeed he had made haste to get to Arthur as only Arthur and his knights could be counted on to bring the Roman family to safety.

'At least we now know why the Bishop is here,' Dani had told him sleepily, rubbing her face into his neck. 'Arthur will not say no to his father's old friend, especially if he appeals to Arthur's Christian responsibility.'

Nervic had known they were going North. What bothered the scout most was why Merlin's Woads had attacked the Bishop's caravan. He remembered the old man again. Charlatan or not, the scout had not doubted the sincerity of the enigmatic leader of the Woads. Now he wondered if even their meeting at Nervic's village was a chance happening.

The reserved scout had always been drawn to mysteries. Somehow he knew the answers too would lie North.

Author's Notes:

So what was a Roman family doing so far North so long after Roman legions left Britain? Britain was effectively left to itself around 409-410 AD. The movie is set in 452 AD. You could drive a semi through this plot hole, so I shall try to find a plausible answer for this too.

For a brief period in earlier centuries Romans occupied territory North of Hadrian's Wall (i.e. Scotland) and called it the province of Valentia. The Antonine Wall, +/-200 miles North of Hadrian's Wall, bordered Valentia to the North.

Dere Street was an old Roman road. It ran across the Hadrian's Wall near Cilurnum fort (I imagine this to be Arthur's Badon) and went through the abandoned province of Valentia all the way to the Antonine Wall.

Trimontium (Place of Three Hills) was an abandoned Roman fort on Dere Street +/-50 miles North of Hadrian's Wall. Abandoned after 210 AD.


	7. A Fickle Lover

Early next morning the knights rode out, dressed in lightweight armor for swift travel and cloaks for warmth, led by Arthur. Jols and Horton accompanied them. It should be at least two day's of hard riding to reach the villa, Tristan estimated. Barring unforeseen events, Dani reminded him wickedly, such as a party of Woads having an argument to settle.

A reluctant Senna was left behind to get the townspeople ready to move when the knights returned, in less than a week if all went well. No matter the Bishop's priorities, Arthur would not leave them to Saxon slaughter.

The company rode hard through the first day, with brief stops to eat and rest the horses. It would go hard on the horses, reflected Tristan casting a look back at the line behind him, and they had brought a few extra just in case. There was no use regretting the noise – of a dozen galloping horses carrying armed riders – and the company hoped to outrun any pursuit, or arrows launched their way.

They rode in a single file, Tristan scouting ahead and Dani trailing the rear watching for signs of pursuit. Being the last rider, she carried her small shield down her back as a precaution against arrows. The hawk flew high above the trees, her shadowy presence a reassurance to her master. Her reaction would give away any pursuers.

They planned to keep to Dere Street until near Trimontium; dilapidated as it was, it still afforded them speed and clear sightlines. Unfortunately, dense forest had crept back onto the road in many places thanks to uncounted generations of neglect, and they had to skirt around a few broken bridges as well. Those were likely places for an ambush; riders were less agile among trees and deadfall than hunters on foot.

An instinct - or sixth sense he no longer questioned but gave thanks for - guided Tristan back to the trail more than once. In the past he had often discounted it, preferring concrete reason. Now, in this strange country, he had nothing else to fall back on and his mind was more open to it. If at times he could see the shadowy road imprinted on the land as though from above, he accepted it; there was no time to wonder what his friends would think of that. He shrugged once at the notion; the others considered him strange as it was. He had always been a loner, keeping company of hawk and horse. Only in the space of last year, with the arrival of Dani, he had become somewhat more sociable.

Stars were winking into view in a purple sky when he called for a halt. They had long ago left the spot where he and Dani had taken a detour a year ago when the two of them had pursued the British traitor. The spy had visited Badon fort last winter and the scouts had trailed him North to a burned out village of slaughtered Picts. They had fought his Saxon comrades but the spy had gotten away to the sea.

They camped in the open ground among the ruins of an old fort – Bremenium, Arthur told them. The fort was on a ridge and had views to the North and West. For a change the moonlight was in their favor, and so far there had been no sign of pursuit. It was colder in the open and in the hilly North regions. Hard riding had kept them warm but now they shivered a little.

Horses were rubbed down, watered and hobbled in the long grass; a small campfire drew the weary party to its cheery warmth. As they ate a meal of dried meat and bread, sweetened with a few apples, the knights joked to relax as though it was just another routine patrol. Gault wisecracked about ghosts of bygone legionaries coming to join them but no one found it funny, so they fell back on making fun of Bor's bastards.

Tristan had first watch with Dagonet. The rest gratefully sank down onto their sleeping rolls, Dani with a few light words for him. They purposely kept apart during the journey so neither would be distracted by concern for the other. The safety of the company depended on them.

The scout fed his hawk some dried meat and fussed over her to make up for ignoring her during the day. She huffed a bit but settled down after a while on a branch close to Tristan's horse to sleep. Tristan and Dagonet started walking the perimeter in concentric circles, the scout taking outer circle.

Tristan felt rather than saw or heard the emptiness around them. He breathed in the cool air, free of foreign, human smell. There was no danger – yet. He walked around the camp noting the scattered sleeping forms of his friends – Dani's a small hump under her blankets – and came to stand in front of Lancelot.

The flirtatious knight had been unusually subdued on the trail. He had in fact been on edge since their return from Luguvalium a scant week ago, impatient to leave Britain and looking ready to bite someone. Strange, mused Tristan, that interlude with Rigana should have made him happy. Now Lancelot was sitting on a stump polishing his blade, that didn't need polish. The man didn't look up, probably hoping the scout would leave.

'Your watch is next,' Tristan reminded him unnecessarily. 'Sleep.'

'You're really going to Rome, aren't you?' asked Lancelot. 'You of all people, you'll hate it.' Tristan said nothing. It was something he didn't dwell upon.

'And you?' asked the scout after a pause.

'I don't know,' Lancelot said in a low voice, finding it easier to voice uncertainty in the near dark. 'You're lucky you have something to follow. Someone.' Tristan raised his eyebrows in surprise; it was unlike Lancelot to admit to a weakness.

'You want someone to follow?' he asked.

'Arthur has his ideals,' Lancelot spoke to his polishing stone. 'Something he believes in enough to fight for. I followed him even though I didn't share his beliefs.' Lancelot was uncertain of the future, provided he lived to see it. Tristan knew the feeling – a year ago his future was as nebulous.

'What about Rigana?' asked Tristan, switching direction and heading for the root of Lancelot's discontent. The two of them were not close but he knew Lancelot had been quite taken with the beautiful, sophisticated widow. Rigana had purpose in life, and she pursued it with passion. The scout now thought she might have been more than a passing fancy for Lancelot. But then the capricious knight had fallen for Dani too.

'Rigana wanted power,' admitted Lancelot with a twitch in his jaw, 'more than she wanted me.' So we have gone that route, thought Tristan, and Lancelot's pride was more hurt than his heart.

'Power is a fickle lover,' he mused aloud. 'But then so are you.' Lancelot's cold glare would have stopped any other man in his tracks, but it bounced harmlessly off the impassive scout. Dark eyes stared evenly through unruly locks at Arthur's second in command.

'Why am I telling you?' Lancelot asked angrily but in a low voice so as to not wake anyone.

'Why not stay in Britain?' countered the scout, not impressed.

'Why not do your job?' Lancelot shot back, pointing in the direction of the camp perimeter. 'You should be out there watching.' Tristan moved away after a moment.

Author's notes:

Bremenium was an old fort on Dere Steet, +/-25 miles North of Hadrian's Wall, situated on a ridge.

I hope you like the ongoing friction between Lancelot and Tristan. I thought it was a pity in the movie they have zero interaction. It would have been nice to see them go head to head.

For those who have not read the prequel 'New Friends, New Enemies', I had the Saxon spy take a tour of Badon fort the year before. I thought it strange how in the movie he knows about the troops stationed there, what Arthur Castus looks like etc. Remember this was BG – before google!


	8. Woad Country

Dani and Percy walked around camp shaking everyone awake in the predawn darkness. The company mounted up swiftly; breakfast would wait. Again Tristan took the lead and Dani trailed the rear, watching their back.

The next day was much the same as the day before but travel was slower this time as the ancient road was almost engulfed by forest overgrowth. And this time Tristan heard the unmistakable sounds of being stalked, felt eyes on their back and saw flitting shadows. They had been found.

Towards late afternoon came the attack, if it could be called that. The knights already knew they were being trailed and it was an unnerving passage; trees and vegetation curled over them, turning the roadway into dark tunnels. Feet thundered after riders and horses spooked when suddenly missiles were launched around them, throwing up thorny nets and herding them into an enclosed spot. The company was forced to a halt, surrounded by impenetrable nets and barricades, facing scores of Woads with spears and arrows readied for launch. The knights drew their swords and lances, and Tristan his bow, knowing them to be futile gestures.

A tense confrontation ensued, and Tristan saw Arthur staring into the eyes of the Woad he had spared, just two days before. The knights had no chance, he knew even as he drew bead on a Woad warrior up in a tree, and tried not think of the woman somewhere behind him. A horn sounded imperatively and the Woad facing Arthur bristled. Very slowly the blue painted warriors backed away, leaving behind a company of very confused knights.

'Merlin doesn't want us dead,' said Arthur tonelessly before signaling Tristan to lead the way again.

By nightfall they spotted the distant shape of the three hills Trimontium took its name from. Rubble walls of an ancient fort gleamed in the moonlight near the foothills. The next morning they would look for the trail East to the villa.

That night the camp was less than cheery and out in the open. The pursuit had not left them, even though they were left unmolested. It was an eerie, unpleasant feeling to be watched so. The knights tried to sleep while Tristan and Dagonet took the first watch.

Tristan came upon a very awake Dani this time, and watched in silence while she checked her weapons, laced her boots and tightened her cloak, a look of concentration on her face.

'Where do you think you are going?' asked Tristan mildly.

'Oh, I have a few questions,' she replied, 'of the Woad sitting in that tree, third branch up.'

'Ah, the sentry,' said Tristan, sounding a little exasperated, 'the trees are thick with his friends, you know.'

'You're usually the one for direct action,' she said, getting up.

'When there is need,' Tristan reminded her reasonably, 'but they have not attacked.'

'Maybe they are waiting for us to return this way,' she replied impatiently, 'hampered with that Roman family we are to be rescuing. What will the Bishop say if we return with an Alecto full of blue arrows?'

'You have a point,' Tristan conceded, 'but it's not the reason you are going.'

'I want to know why Merlin attacked the Bishop's caravan,' Dani told him quietly.

'You liked him, I know,' Tristan said slowly. 'But they are Woads after all.'

'That's what Sassanids said of us, people of the free tribes,' she said looking serious. 'That we were just barbarians. It's what Romans say of everyone else, Tristan. Should we think like Romans, just because we serve Rome?' She waited while he said nothing, lost in thought.

'I am coming with you,' he said sighing. He decided not to pick up his bow - it might panic the watchers - and sighed once more. Walking into a company of Woads openly warred with his instincts.

'Look friendly,' Dani suggested with an impish grin. Tristan favored her with a dark look and casting a glance at where Dagonet should be, followed her straight to the thicket of trees in the distance, hoping the healer would have the sense to not follow.

The Woads must have been taken aback at their approach. For a long while the two scouts stood in a moonlit clearing in front of the thicket of trees, hands away from body, looking up into faces peering down at them. Tristan tried to not look threatening and wondered, as he heard the ominous sound of bowstrings being drawn back, what they were doing here. Rustling sounds announced company, and the two were beckoned closer into the trees - where it was easier to ambush them, thought Tristan sourly. He followed Dani anyway.

Two men, wholly dissimilar in appearance, faced the scouts. One whom Arthur had spared, a strapping Woad in blue war paint and leather, and a younger man Tristan estimated to be in early twenties. He was dressed in woolen tunic and _braccae_, and armed with a hunting spear. He looked like a Pictish villager, not a warrior despite swirling patterns on bared arms. The Woad – an older man of Arthur's age leaning on his war bow - wore the same look of furious pride that Tristan remembered. He seemed eager for a reason to use the bow, not that Tristan would comply with the thicket fairly bristling with reinforcements, though he openly kept a hand on the hilt of his dagger.

'Merlin sent you to watch us,' stated Dani.

'To keep you safe,' said the young man. He had a friendly, open face. 'I am Eagan.'

'Nervic's cousin's nephew,' remembered the scout. 'Trader of fine pottery.'

'In summer, I am a trader,' replied Eagan, with a small grin. 'In Winter, I am a hunter.' Evidently juggling dual professions ran in the family, thought the scout. His eyes went to the older man.

'This is Nechtan, son of Nervic's mother's sister,' Eagan said by way of introduction. 'My uncle.'

'We have met,' said the scout dryly, not taking his eyes off the man. 'Twice.'

'Three times for you,' said Dani. She addressed Nechtan, 'you were with Guin's party last Winter.' The man nodded once.

Now pieces of the puzzle started falling into place for Tristan, but he was still missing pieces. He let Dani do the talking while keeping eyes and ears trained on watchers hidden among the trees. He felt a familiar presence – the hawk – alight on a branch.

'Merlin offered us words of peace between our peoples,' Dani directed to Nechtan, obviously the leader. 'Yet you attacked the Bishop.'

'Rome deals with Saxons!' the Woad spat out. Dani and Tristan exchanged a blank look.

'Explain,' Tristan said and received another glare. Eagan put up a placating hand.

'Saxons have landed here in the North,' the young man explained. 'An army.'

'It seems common knowledge,' Tristan said dryly, common to everyone except Arthur and his men, that was.

'Arthur betrays his own people. He leaves them to slaughter,' Nechtan said bitterly. 'And we are to protect him!'

'Arthur knew nothing of the Saxon army,' Dani contradicted him quietly but forcefully, 'until two days ago.'

'Merlin believes so too,' said Eagan, looking towards a dubious Nechtan.

'You hate Arthur,' Dani addressed the leader. 'Yet it pains you.'

'My mother had two sisters, both married Romans.' Nechtan said woodenly. 'Nervic's father, and Arthur's.'

Tristan stared at the man in shock, seeing under the blue paint, wild hair and facial tattoos the same proud features, sturdy build, green eyes, determination and burden of responsibility. The two men could have been brothers, and the scout was suddenly glad they had spared each other.

'Arthur does not deal with Saxons,' Dani informed him quietly. 'We have fought them South of the Wall, and in Nervic's village.'

'That's why Nervic sent me,' Eagan interjected. 'He went to see you.'

'We met,' Tristan said shortly.

'Then you are to take the Roman family South?'

'More common knowledge,' grumbled Tristan, annoyed at so many holes in Arthur's – and his own – intelligence of what went on beyond the Wall. Woad network on top of wench network, he thought gloomily.

'You know the family,' stated Dani with certainty.

'Segedunum sends them supplies,' Eagan shrugged vaguely, sidestepping the question. Segedunum was the Easternmost fort on the Wall and next to the North Sea, where Nervic was stationed. Like the cavalryman, it had a large number of British born soldiers who had ties to Britain through their mothers. That's how Marius gets his messages to Rome, Tristan realized, messages that Picts are privy to, and Merlin as well.

'Guin is not here,' said Dani suddenly. Eagan became guarded. Nechtan's face clouded.

'We will watch over you,' he said, 'until you return to the Wall.' That sounded like a warning as well as a promise. The two men disappeared and the scouts returned to camp.

Author's notes:

'Us vs them' is a recurring theme in human history, sadly between people who must share the same resources, e.g. land. The character of Dani is to provide a perspective to Arthur and his knights – one that is not Roman, British, Sarmatian or otherwise testosterone-encumbered!

I liked the Woad that Arthur came face to face with in the movie. Poor guy wasn't even credited even though he is in several key scenes. He even manages to mimic Arthur's machismo. I thought there was a story here. I hope you like it.


	9. Villa in the North

Disclaimer - lots of dialogue is this chapter is from the movie. I try not to use movie dialogue but it blended in well here.

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The next day, in the light of a damp morning sun, they saw in the far distance the villa of Marius on a trail that led East towards the coast from Dere Street. Smoke rose lazily from several outbuildings, seeming as though all was well. Arthur said a heartfelt thanks to his God that Saxons seemed not to have found the family. Horton found his voice at last and raised it in praise of his God, the Bishop and Arthur, in that order. Lancelot rolled his eyes and Bors snorted.

Arthur charged Tristan with making sure the way back was clear. Dani was sent North to see how close the Saxons might be. Tristan headed back down Dere Street, wanting them to leave – quickly, feeling a sense of wrongness. Grimly he cast to the back of his mind thoughts of Dani riding North to look for Saxons. The countryside was quiet - too quiet, and he sensed it was not entirely due to a party of noisy riders. The hawk started circling and Tristan slowed down to a trot as he crested a slight rise, thankful for the cover of trees. What he saw made him impassive with horror.

A force of Saxons, light infantry bowmen, was marching in his direction from the South, roughly following Dere Street, hacking at the undergrowth. They were far away still but their pace was swift. The way South was blocked.

A soft thudding noise – unshod hooves on snow - announced company. Eagan stopped beside him, watching the invaders. He was mounted on a shaggy little highland pony. The pony blew soft plumes of mist through its nostrils and the rider had added a cloak to his attire. They had evidently been riding for a while.

'They have landed all along the East,' he told the knight, looking tired. 'My people are fleeing into the mountains.' Tristan nodded at that. The coast was close he knew and, here in the North, unguarded by Roman forces. He wondered why a swift force had been sent North though, unless…

'They know of Marius,' Tristan said aloud, feeling his throat tighten. The Saxons would undoubtedly find the knights' trail leading to the villa. They were trapped.

'There is a hunting trail that leads East,' Eagan said quickly.

'To the Saxons,' Tristan reminded him sharply.

'To Vodatini lands,' Eagan said, 'that I know like the back of my hand.'

'Why do you help us?' asked Tristan abruptly. 'When your own people are in peril?'

'It is Merlin's wish,' was the calm answer. That strangely satisfied the scout. He himself followed such a leader.

'You have shed blood for my kin,' Eagan added, looking at him. 'And your woman as well. I owe you a debt of honor. I volunteered.'

Mention of Dani made Tristan glance North. Then he nodded his assent. It was time for desperate measures and Tristan trusted his instinct. It told him the man was sincere.

'Show me,' he told Eagan.

As they set off, Tristan looked towards the Saxons once more and saw a figure next to the leader that stood out from the rest. Recognition shot through the scout despite the distance. It was the British traitor!

By the time Tristan reached the villa, not sparing the horse, it was past midday. The twisting trail East that Eagan showed him led through hills and Tristan was cautiously optimistic. At least an army couldn't rush them. There was a switchback to Dere Street close to the Wall, according to Eagan. Tristan hoped Marius and his family could ride and that they had swift horses. Tristan met Arthur in front of the villa gates.

'They've landed to the East and are coming from the South trying to cut off our escape,' Tristan reported, exhausted and grim. He scanned the surroundings while speaking for any sign of Dani. 'They'll be here before nightfall.'

'How many?' Arthur asked.

'An entire army,' said the scout. Close enough for all practical purposes, he thought.

'And the only way out is to the South?' Arthur pressed. Tristan stared at the leader, noting a new harshness around the lips. It probably accounted for why he did not register what Tristan already told him, that Saxons were coming from South.

'East,' he clarified. 'There is a trail heading East, across the mountains. It means we will have to cross behind Saxon lines but that's the one we should take.' While he reported to Arthur, Tristan continued looking for Dani's return. He noticed farm folk loading their possessions on to carts.

'Arthur,' he asked abruptly. 'Who are all these people?'

'They're coming with us,' replied Arthur, not without irony. He had been told of last night's message from Merlin's men. He wasn't leaving the farmers to slaughter either.

'Then we'll never make it,' said Tristan bitterly, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Every time he closed his eyes he saw mischievous children with Dani's olive complexion and slanted hazel eyes. He despaired anew that this future would not come to pass. As though to punctuate his thought, Saxon war drums sounded. Frantic preparations for departure halted momentarily, then started with renewed urgency.

When he regained his composure, Tristan saw Arthur entering a crude wattle and daub lean-to next to the villa walls. Gawain, Dagonet and Lancelot followed their leader into a dark passage. Tristan sighed and moved forward to block the protesting guards from interfering. His cold eyes and bared blade held them at bay, as did the presence of Bors and Galahad beside him. He flicked his eyes back and silently asked Arthur to hurry with whatever he was doing. Of all the knights, only Tristan knew how close behind the Saxon army was.

After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur came out carrying a woman in his arms, dressed in peasant attire. Dagonet was behind him with a child. They looked emaciated and injured. Arthur put the woman down on the ground and fed her sips of water from a skin passed to him. Tristan edged closer for a look and his eyes widened. The woman was Guin! Even after all these intervening months - and through the pain and exhaustion on her face - the slim aristocratic features were unmistakable. And, yes, the boy Dagonet was ministering to was Lucan. A lady hurried forward to help Arthur. Bors looked confused.

'She's a Woad,' Tristan told the big man. Bors looked even more confused.

There was a scuffle between Arthur and a pudgy Roman lord. Tristan guessed him to be Marius. The lord had struck his wife for helping the Woads.

'Arthur,' Tristan said sharply. This was no time to be settling domestic disputes!

'We leave now,' Arthur said. 'Get them to start moving.' The scout trotted away. He reflected with resignation that it was a good thing they would take the trail East, for no cart would pass through the tangle of trees that Dere Street had become anyway.

Tristan rode along the caravan that was forming still looking for Dani. He passed Jols loading one of the carts with supplies from the villa - bows and arrows, spears and swords, linens and salves. They would be needed, Tristan thought grimly, thankful for Jols' foresight. The presence of Gault and Eric, lances in hand, helped persuade the reluctant guards that this was a necessary task. Jols looked up.

'Get them moving,' Tristan told him and Jols started shouting orders to the villagers on foot and in carts behind him. The caravan started moving slowly, harried by merciless pounding of drums. Tristan moved on restlessly.

A wagon had been converted into a sick cart and the injured Woads were loaded into it, attended by Dagonet. Percy was ministering to an elderly man; through the slats Tristan glimpsed horrific cuts on the man's back. Tristan was about to ask Percy if he had seen the woman when drumming hoof beats sounded. Dani rode down hard, looking exhausted. Tristan's breath came out in a whistle as he turned his horse and matched her pace. Arthur was next to the lead wagon carrying Marius and his family. The Roman lord stuck out his head at the scouts' approach, looking frightened and uncertain.

'Arthur,' Dani said between breaths. 'The fort at Trimontium is full of Saxon, and they are preparing to march South. We can't go back that way.' Tristan's sharp eyes noticed a rip in her leather tunic where a bolt or blade had missed narrowly. This time he exhaled without a sound. The woman patted her mare absently. The beast stood with heaving flanks and a foaming mouth. Both their horses were spent.

'A force of bowmen is coming to the villa,' Arthur spared a moment to inform her. 'We go East.' She looked around now, eyes widening as she took in the caravan.

'The Celt informer is with them,' Tristan added while watching Marius. He saw the nobleman absorb this news with speculation and an unexpected lack of surprise. The scout's eyes narrowed; Marius knew the traitor, or of him, he felt sure.

Author's notes:

I thought Tristan could use some help finding the way in a strange country in such a short time too. No?

Jols did not leave Hadrian's Wall loaded with quivers full of arrows, right? They did have it at the lake though. Hmmmm….

Which brings me to the homily du jour: we have become so accustomed to seeing 'stuff' around us – quantities of it in bulk – that we forget that in Roman times, and in fact until very recently, everything had to be made individually by hand. The raw materials for every implement had to be extracted by hand or with tools that depended on solar, wind, water or muscle power. Those exerting the muscle power - whether slave, human or animal - had to be fed, housed, cared for, and so on.

Today, mass produced 'stuff' is so ubiquitous, we forget what makes it so 'cheap': our ability to use fossil fueled machines – for extraction of raw materials, manufacture of products and transportation of bulk goods – and our willingness to disregard environmental costs – landfills, factory smog, poisoned waterways, dying species etc. Perhaps the latter is so because most environmental costs are borne by the poor in terms of health, life expectancy, living conditions and so on.

When Europeans settled other continents – and often supplanted more ecologically conscious natives – nature's bounties seemed limitless. Expansion seemed ideal. However, we have reached the point in time when we are running hard up against resource constraints, seeing an end to cheap fuel and finally waking up to a finite planet that cannot take any more pollution. We have entered an era of contraction. Since our economy is built on the assumptions of unlimited growth, and unlimited 'one time use' products designed to be trashed, is it a wonder that it is faltering?

In 'The Story of Stuff', director Annie Leonard calls it 'the dinosaur economy'. The movie is an animated short (+/-20 minute) film available for free viewing online. It talks about where all the 'stuff' we are surrounded by comes from, and what it is doing to our living planet (think landfill) and our quality of life (think hamster on wheel). Another great (and free) online resource is 'The Crash Course', a series of power point lectures by Chris Martenson that explains the interconnections between 'the three e's – economy, energy and environment'.

Fortunately, we can make changes – before we are forced to downsize anyway – by switching our energies to becoming producers instead of consumers, neighbors instead of shoppers, and resilient communities instead of isolated individuals. So, go ahead – plant a garden, compost, keep a few chickens, learn some forgotten skills (like cooking) and most importantly, share your time, tools, produce and knowledge with those around you. End of lecture!

Another unexplained tit bit – how did the Saxon spy know of the Roman family, their whereabouts and importance? I know – the scriptwriter told him! Explanations are coming – stay tuned.


	10. Longing and Belonging

Author's notes:

Finally explanations to the questions posited earlier in the story. Enjoy!

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Tristan rode ahead for a pace, enjoying the solitude and sorting through his thoughts.

He was a man who liked things in order and decisions made after due consideration. Since the Bishop had arrived, the knights' orderly lives had been thrown into chaos, one unforeseen complication after another. Tristan's own life had altered radically since his relationship with Dani. He had committed to living in Rome. He lived with recurring fear for his wife's safety and wondered sourly if this was married life. No wonder some men spurned it. He saw sobering reminders of death's suddenness – auxiliaries lying dead by the trailside with puzzled expressions frozen on their faces.

After some time he judged the caravan was well on its way and fell back to the rear to find Dani. On his way he passed Arthur in conversation with the beautiful Woad woman they had rescued. A snatch of conversation floated up to him.

'I belong to this land,' she was saying. 'Where do you belong, Arthur?'

They would all belong in this frigid waste, thought the scout with dark humor, together for eternity if they didn't hurry. He joined Dani at the rear of the caravan, and rode side by side, matching its slow pace. They were riding two of the extras, and Tristan regretted that their own horses could not be given proper rest and rubdown. The grey mare had carried him faithfully for many years and Dani's had once belonged to Bedwyr, his only close friend before he was killed in a skirmish a few years past. Like all Sarmatians, Tristan cared for his horse as if for his own blood.

Hearing distant sound of Saxon war drums, Tristan fought down fear for the first time in his fifteen years of service in Britain. For the first time he had something too important to lose. He concentrated on the trail, automatically committing the countryside to memory. They were taking a narrow trail used by hunters and traders. The bowmen following them on foot would have limited room to maneuver if it came to fighting. It would come to fighting, Tristan knew with a sense of inevitability. He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head, irritated at himself. Next he would be wringing his hands, he thought with disgust. The hawk on his arm squawked, in tune with his mood.

'I am still with you,' Dani said teasingly, 'if you were checking.'

'You ran into them,' Tristan said sharply, not liking her blithe tone for a change.

'I knew you'd notice,' she said ruefully, fingering the rip in her tunic. 'A scout saw me but he was alone, lucky for me. He won't be telling.'

'Lucky this time,' Tristan said grimly.

'And you were like this with Bedwyr, I suppose,' she said after a pause. 'I can see why you had only one friend.'

Tristan heard laughter in her voice and bit down on a retort. He could see his worry was doing no one any good. They would all be very lucky indeed to get back to the Wall in one piece. To distract himself and divert her, he told the woman about Guin. They rode up to the wagon carrying the Woads. Guin was sitting up in front massaging the fingers on her left hand.

'Guin!' Dani called and the woman looked up. Recognition dawned on her face.

'I'm called Dani,' said the foreign woman, 'and he is Tristan.' Tristan inclined his head coolly as Guin took another look at him. He was curious about how the haughty aristocrat came to be where she was found.

'I am Guinevere,' the Woad offered in a low, ironic voice. 'We meet again.'

'We had not known earlier there were Romans North of the Wall,' said Dani conversationally, looking ahead to the trail and glossing over the condition she was found in. People often volunteered information if they were not interrogated. For a long moment it seemed as though Guin would say nothing.

'The estate has been there for many generations, back from when there were Roman soldiers at the Place of the Three Hills,' Guin offered. That would be Trimontium, reflected Tristan. The Roman Empire had once extended North of the Wall, many generations ago.

'Some of our people had married the Celts working there,' the Woad continued. Which explained why the estate was left unmolested, Tristan thought. Generations of family connections between the Celt farm workers and the highland Picts had formed an enduring bond. The Picts would not endanger their kin or their livelihood. He doubted that the Roman overlords could tell the difference. Roman nobles moved in a sphere separate from those who served them, especially 'barbarians'.

'You were visiting family then,' prompted Dani.

'I was looking for someone, a traitor!' Guin spat, eyes flashing fire. Dani and Tristan exchanged a quick glance.

'You have seen him.' It was Guin's turn to ask. She had not missed the look.

'Greasy dark hair, shifty eyes, medium build, dark skinned Celt? Travels alone with money to spend?' offered Dani and Guin nodded.

'He was with the Saxons that killed the boy's people,' Tristan volunteered, briefly nodding towards the back of the cart where Lucan lay sleeping. At Guin's questioning look he added, 'He got away.' Guin was silent for another long moment.

'You were right,' she said finally, looking at Dani with a humorless laugh. 'I should have looked more humble. I went looking for information, but a guard became suspicious.' Or the traitor/spy had safe haven with Marius, thought Tristan suddenly.

The traitor was playing both sides – Roman and Saxon, he came to a stunned realization. That's how the Bishop knew of the Saxon army – from the Celt spy through Marius. He remembered the satchel the traitor carried – one with Christian symbols; it had most likely been a gift, not loot. Perhaps even the silver that the spy had spent freely in Badon had been gift. Now the Celt was betraying Marius. He wondered why Marius had been reluctant to leave the villa. Perhaps he thought he could deal with the Saxons. The scout shook his braided head. As Gawain had said, 'Saxons kill everything.'

It all made sense though. Rome was withdrawing its protection, leaving Britain to Saxon pillage. If the Saxons were content with Britain, perhaps they would not venture across the English Channel into Roman territories on the continent, territories that were more defensible. The Bishop had known all this. That's why Merlin's men attacked the Bishop; they knew why he was in Britain from the messages flowing between Marius and the Bishop through Segedunum. The Bishop cared only for Marius' son, the future pope. This was the Rome Arthur fought for. Tristan felt sick on behalf of his commander.

Reluctantly he remembered the fighting throughout the continent that Senna and the Baltic knights spoke of, the turmoil around the Black Sea near the knights' homeland. He was sick of fighting. He wanted to belong in a land of his own, raise a family and know peace. He listened to the rest of the conversation.

'It had always been safe before, else I would not have taken Lucan.' Guin told Dani with pain in her voice. 'We pretended to be mother and son, looking for work.'

'You could not have known that!' Both Tristan and Guin were surprised at the vehemence in Dani's voice. 'You would not have exposed Lucan to danger, so you should not blame yourself. I know ….'

'Tristan,' Gawain called from ahead pointing to the front of the caravan. 'You're wanted. Arthur.' Tristan spurred his horse and galloped to the front of the line. The hawk on his arm had to spread her wings to balance with the sudden momentum, and scolded sharply. He pulled up next to Arthur and a few of the knights. It was late afternoon but an overcast sky made it impossible to know for sure how much daylight remained.

'We're moving too slow,' informed Tristan rather unnecessarily, pushing thoughts of the Bishop to the back of his mind.

'We will sleep here tonight,' Arthur said, 'Take shelter in those trees.' The knights looked doubtful, as did Tristan. The Saxons marching on them were close, the only question being how close, but he had also sensed the caravan slowing down, especially those on foot. He himself longed for rest.

'Tristan,' said Arthur with a significant look towards the scout. Suppressing a sigh, the scout held out his arm to let the hawk fly.

'Want to go out again, eh?' he asked her. His task was to find how close their pursuers were. As though sensing his thoughts, the hawk flew back over the trail and the scout followed her lead.

Author's note:

I am trying to explain how the Roman family came to be living in the North, how Guinevere was found there and how the Bishop knew of the impending Saxon invasion. I thought these were major plot holes. Also how the British traitor had up to date information about pretty much everything. Hope you like my explanations. Poor Bishop is blacker than a kettle now. FYI, there was indeed a Bishop Germanus who visited Britain twice, in the 420s and late 440s, and apparently was a decent fellow.

Unexplained detail – on the trail Alecto tells a clueless Arthur that Bishop Germanus had Pelagius excommunicated and executed last year. There must be a way messages are getting back and forth between Rome and Marius. I do not think it was the transcontinental pigeon service. Hence messages through Segedunum!

Trimontium was occupied intermittently between 80 – 210 AD.

I love Guinevere's line 'I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?'

If Arthur were Lancelot, he would have replied, 'I belong with you'. Being slow on the uptake though, he looks like this does not make sense to him, just like it probably does not make sense to many people of the modern industrial world. How many of us can say it and mean it?

Indigenous people of the past, and the present, did not own land, rather they belonged to it. They nurtured and were nurtured in return. They were not rich but self-sufficient. We are a landowning society yet we are more rootless and nomadic than any other in history, not knowing our next-door neighbors let alone plants and animals, not knowing where our food and basic necessities come from. When someone loses his job, he is truly alienated and outcast, lacking the safety net of family, tribe, land, traditions, basic skills and memory/knowledge. So we are rich but childlike in our dependency.

Chief Seattle of the Suquamish Indians wrote a famous letter in 1854 to the President of US. I recently read the letter (online). Here are a few excerpts:

'How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land?

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, so happens to man. All things are connected.

The Earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the Earth.'

The idea of 'belonging to the land' is often romanticized in movies, such as King Arthur, and who doesn't want to look like Guinevere? Belonging to the land in real life is much more practical and earthy. A few years ago I came across the book 'From the Good Earth: a Celebration of Growing Food Around the World' by Michael Ableman. The author, BTW, is a farmer and a photojournalist, and the book is full of vivid photos of native peoples across many cultures growing, harvesting, selling, preparing and enjoying food – all communally. It is their story, and they are the real heroes.

And you don't have to be in an impoverished country to grow food. Ableman chronicles the story of his own farm Fairview Gardens in the middle of suburban Santa Barbara and the efforts to save it from development (read asphaltification) in 'On Good Land: the Autobiography of an Urban Farm'. And then there is the urban and suburban micro-farm movement that is sweeping the globe. It's astonishing how much good stuff will grow on a bit of land. So we can belong to the land we live on, when bits of the land are to be found under our fingernails! Yummy germies.


	11. A Hunt in the Dark

Tristan passed the caravan again, this time riding in the opposite direction. A frigid rain started, fingers of icy cold seeping down his neck and flakes of snow settling on hair and beard. He passed Guin's cart once more. Her spot in the caravan seemed to be a destination for everyone, he noted, for this time it was Lancelot having an animated discussion.

'I don't believe in heaven,' the charming knight was saying, 'but if you represent what heaven is, take me there.'

Tristan rode on without missing a beat, chuckling into his beard. The frigid rain hadn't cooled the man's ardor. He was glad that Lancelot had found a distraction for his petulant mood and made a note to tell Dani. He found her farther down the line. She came away to the edge of the trail to talk to him.

'Arthur will halt soon,' he informed her shortly.

'We are to track the Saxon pursuit,' she guessed, only partially correct in Tristan's estimation.

'Not we,' he said, 'me. You will be needed to find the way ahead.'

'The way ahead is clear as day,' she said, turning the horse around. 'I am needed to keep your head on your shoulders.'

Tristan sighed, wishing for once she would do as told and knowing she was probably right. He would need backup to spy on their pursuers, and possibly delay or distract them. Also, a small part of him was warmed by her concern for him. It wanted her to be with him, even in the face of greater danger. If they never reached the Wall, they would at least be together in the end.

'You probably wouldn't notice the difference though,' she added with irrepressible humor, just to rile him. Tristan said nothing but the tenderness in his mood evaporated, and was replaced by an urge to throttle her instead. Why did he have to be the only one miserable and grim?

They rode swiftly and silently back the way they had come, the man looking for his hawk among the trees. Night had fallen by the time he felt her familiar presence close by and slowed to a halt. A full moon, reflected on patches of icy snow, cast enough light for the riders to see their way. The air became colder, if possible, though the rain had stopped. Tristan gave thanks for small mercies.

The scouts dismounted. For long moments they stood listening to the night sounds, sniffing the frigid air and looking for any sign of movement. Finally they could hear rough guttural talk and laughter, smell cooking smoke and see small flickers of light. Even the relentless Saxon had to stop and eat, and get rest. A panicked rabbit burrowed into the undergrowth, and the scouts froze for a moment. Then a swishing sound announced the hawk. It landed on Tristan's outstretched hand and made a clicking noise.

'I hear them too,' he told the bird softly. 'Good girl.'

'Off the trail,' Tristan whispered to the woman, leading the way into a tangle of trees. The hawk disappeared again; trees hampered her.

Sweeping branches bare of leaves looked near impenetrable but he had seen the rocky ground slope up beyond. Cautiously they held up branches for each other, careful not to leave behind telltale signs of passage. Tristan used an old branch to erase their tracks. They were just ahead of the Saxon force and the enemy might send scouts of their own.

Tristan led the way up a slope, glad that only the bottom was rocky. A brook somewhere close made enough noise to mask any small sounds they might make. Certainly they would not be heard in the Saxon camp. The ground leveled after a while and there was a small clearing hidden among tall undergrowth. The scouts tethered their horses; they would be safe here.

'I smell smoke,' Dani whispered. Tristan grunted; so did he. They moved farther upslope until they came to a vantage point where they could observe the countryside from the cover of trees. They looked back in the direction of the villa.

Thick black smoke curled up from several outbuildings. No doubt the wooden construction, thatch and stored grain had made a good fire. The buildings had fallen in; several still glowed. The villa was a dark ruin in the light of dying fires and pallid moonlight.

'It's so senseless,' Dani said in a choked voice. Tristan put an arm around her shoulders, thinking dispassionately that it was a good thing the Saxons had stopped to destroy the farm. Or they would have been even closer to the caravan. He tapped her shoulder to direct her attention to the Saxon campfires flickering among trees.

The enemy had stopped in a wide clearing next to the trail they had passed earlier. Had the Saxons pressed on, they would have caught up with the caravan. They probably wished to conduct the slaughter in daylight, Tristan thought, to make sure no one got away. The enemy knew the caravan couldn't hope to outrun them. Cold anger made his belly clench.

'There,' Dani pointed. Shadows moved along the trail, not very cautiously. The Saxons knew they had nothing to worry them, Tristan thought bitterly, counting four scouts as they stopped to inspect the caravan tracks. Sounds floated up – barked commands, harsh laughter. Then two of the Saxons parted branches and started up the slope. Obviously they had found some clue.

Tristan exchanged a glance with Dani. She brought two fingers of each hand together and separated them. Then she made a slashing gesture across her throat. They both had the same thought apparently. If the Saxons coming upslope found their horses they would be trapped on foot. But if Tristan took them out with his arrows, they would make enough noise to alert their fellows on the trail.

'Easier for me up here,' she whispered and Tristan considered the plan dispassionately. It would be easier for her to elude the two men coming upslope; she had the advantage of higher ground, greater agility and, thanks to her weapon, longer reach. In addition to several daggers and dirks, the woman had a 'chanokh' - two blades at either ends of a pliant cord made of sinew, horsehair and leather plaited together and reinforced with metal rings at intervals. He had seen her wield it with deadly accuracy. She wore it now wrapped diagonally across her chest. Tristan nodded and started his way down without further speech, keeping clear of the men coming up. Silence and speed served better than foolish words.

For a fair sized man, Tristan moved swiftly and silently. Soon he was in the undergrowth beside the trail watching the Saxon scouts looking up to see their brethren. They carried short club-like axes, and one had a crossbow. Tristan laid out his quiver on the ground, stuck a throwing knife in the ground in front of him and nocked an arrow to his bow. He sensed no other presence on the trail. After several long moments, Tristan whistled a bird sound. The hawk glided into view, flying low, and causing the men to look the other way. The men froze, and so did Tristan.

Eagan stood alone in the middle of the trail.

Author's note:

The idea of the 'chanokh' comes from the weapon used by the character Raizo in the movie 'Ninja Assassin'


	12. Reluctant Guests

The two Saxons stared at the Votadini hunter, seeing a native villager weaponless save for his hunting spear. They had massacred many such in their foray in Britain. Eagan turned and disappeared down the trail, away from the Saxon camp. The Saxon scouts nudged each other and took off after him, wanting some sport to alleviate boredom. They had obviously been disappointed at finding the Roman villa empty. Tristan picked up his weapons, came out onto the trail and followed, shoving thoughts of Dani to the back of his mind. He picked up his pace hearing heavy thuds and muffled curses.

Rounding a bend he came to find the Saxons on the ground being clubbed mercilessly by several Picts. The highlanders had vengeance in mind and didn't want to give the two an easy send off. A rope lay on the ground – it had obviously been used to trip them. An old trick but the Saxons had been overconfident. The Saxons went limp and one of the Picts took out a dagger.

'Wait,' Tristan called out. 'I want them alive.' Eagan stepped away from the melee and barked a short order. By the time Tristan reached the group the Picts had the Saxons securely tied and gagged.

'Two more,' Tristan said briefly to Eagan, jerking a thumb back. 'Dani is alone.' Eagan issued some quick orders to his men. The Britons started dragging the Saxons off the moonlit trail into the murky trailside undergrowth.

Tristan and Eagan raced back, not bothering with secrecy. The Saxons had sent four scouts, confident in their abilities and expecting no resistance in an area they had already overrun. The two men stopped at the foot of the rocky slope and looked up searchingly into the darkness beyond. Tristan tried to quell his anxiety. Somewhere up there Dani was playing a cat and mouse game with two vicious Saxons. A triumphant cry in Saxon voice told him she had been found.

Tristan and Eagan scrambled up the slope following the direction of the sound as fast as they dared. It was treacherous going given the dark and loose rocks. Fortunately the Saxons were looking up and making enough noise of their own, following a small shadow flitting among shafts of moonlight. Like the other two they wanted sport. One let out a muffled curse and lost his footing briefly when several large rocks came hurtling down his way. One of Tristan's long throwing knives buried itself in his side.

'Finish him,' Tristan told Eagan, leaving the stricken Saxon to the Pict. He heard the satisfying sound of rock connecting with skull behind him. Eagan obviously found it easier than leveraging his spear on uneven ground.

The Saxon ahead turned back now, hilarity gone, and reached for the crossbow strapped to his back. He had the advantage of higher ground relative to Tristan. The knight whipped out another throwing knife just as the Saxon let out a yelp. A flying blade at the end of a long cord pinned his hand to his crossbow. The Saxon bellowed in anger and pain, and slipped. Tristan was on top him within a heartbeat, knife in hand. The weight of the knight tumbled the Saxon onto the rocks. Tristan grimly dispatched him to his gods and sat down to catch his breath. Eagan and Dani joined him for a brief respite.

'Why do you want the other two?' the trader-hunter asked.

'Questioning,' Tristan replied. 'Do you speak their tongue?'

'One of us does,' Eagan said, shrugging. 'They have been raiding long enough for us to pick up some of their speech.'

Soon the trio, leading the scouts' horses, joined Eagan's Votadini hunters in the forest around a small campfire. It was midnight, and Tristan was thankful neither Dani nor he had sustained injuries. Now that the hunt was over, Tristan could feel his fatigue return and shook himself to alertness. He questioned the prisoners, one of the Picts acting as an interpreter. Eagan was happy to encourage the Saxons using the red-hot point of his spear.

Cerdic 'the Great' led the Saxons, Trisan learned. Cynric, Cerdic's son and foremost of his _ealdormen_, was pursuing the caravan with a force of two hundred bowmen. Cerdic himself marched a great army to the Wall. He wished to kill Arthur, a man whom the Britons spoke of with hope. Cerdic believed killing Arthur would crush the British.

Tristan fingered the crossbow while the Saxons spoke, not reacting to the threat to Arthur though his blood ran cold. The design of the crossbow was different from the one he and Dani had recovered from a scouting party the year before. It was sturdier and used a heavier bolt. A Saxon sniggered and told him it cut through Roman armor like knife through fat. The Picts growled. Many Roman auxiliaries were in fact Pict mercenaries or half Pictish through their mothers.

'Why are you here?' asked Dani, who had previously sat silent. The Saxon sniggered again and launched into a guttural narrative. At the end of his speech, he spat contemptuously; he was satisfied with the effect it had on the translator. The Pict looked shaken.

'Their leader wishes to wipe out Britons,' said the Pict, 'and claim our land. Many more will come.' The rest of the Picts eyed each other and muttered amongst themselves. Dani looked sorrowful but the knight remained outwardly impassive. There was a long thoughtful silence afterwards.

Tristan gestured Eagan and Dani away from the fire. He was fairly sure that the Saxons did not speak the Celtic-Pictish pidgin that passed for the medium of communication around the Wall, but he did not want to take chances. If this Cerdic was heading for the Wall, there was no time to waste. He looked askance at the woman; she seemed immersed in thought.

'My tribe lives on barren land,' she explained. 'Once it too was fertile, and kings fought over it.' The young hunter-trader looked sympathetic but unworried. He probably cannot comprehend what the word 'barren' means, though the knight. He decided to change the subject.

'We must get back,' the knight said, 'and start moving.'

'Thank you,' Dani said warmly and Eagan looked pleased.

'Those two are yours,' added Tristan.

'We Votadini like to entertain guests,' Eagan replied with a fierce grin. 'One more day will bring you out to the main road close to the Wall. I wish you luck, knight of Arthur.'

'We found Guin,' Dani interjected. 'She's in the caravan.' Eagan looked startled.

Tristan watched his reaction carefully. He and Dani had met a party of Woads the year before North of the Wall, led by Guin, and he was sure she was someone of importance. He had seen the faint scar of a torc around her neck such as worn by tribal chiefs. If so, the Picts would want her to survive. The caravan needed all the help it could get, and even a band of Votadini hunters could balance the scale in their favor.

'She is injured, but recovering well.' he added. Eagan hesitated for a long moment.

'Then Merlin is in your debt,' he said finally. 'Guinivere is his daughter. She went to the villa and disappeared, and none of our own knew where. We hesitated to attack, fearing for her safety.'

'Neither she nor any of us will be safe until we reach the Wall,' Dani said earnestly. 'There we can make a stand. You heard what they plan.'

Tristan looked at her in surprise but said nothing in front of Eagan. Once they reached the Wall, their pact with Rome was over, and he looked forward to taking a swift horse South, as did all his brothers. He would travel to Rome with Arthur, Dani and the Baltic knights, not get embroiled in the struggle for Britain. He was sorry for Eagan and his kin but this was not his fight, and a hopeless one it was. Of course he said none of this now, but made a note to talk to the woman later in private.

'We will keep watch,' Eagan said slowly, 'and I will speak with my brothers.'

Author's note:

I thought poor Cerdic and Cynric should be credited for their excellent villainy. As far as I recall their names were not mentioned in the movie.

Torc - leaders of British tribes commonly wore gold torcs, a neckband of twisted gold wire open in front. You can see Guinevere wearing one in the climactic battle scene. Ancient Celts had women leaders so it is probable that Picts did as well.

_ealdorman_ – military leader

Saxons – and Angles and Jutes – repeatedly raided Britain 3rd century onwards. They were fierce Germanic tribes from modern day Denmark and upper Germany, beyond the Roman frontiers. I wondered why the movie focused on only Saxons. Maybe the word 'Saxon' has a better ring. Imagine alternate scenarios:

Bishop: 'a massive Jute invasion has started in the North.'

Arthur: 'Jute? Isn't that a fiber?'

Or

Bishop: 'a massive Angle invasion has started in the North.'

Arthur: 'Can you be specific? Right angle, triangle, rectangle?'

Punning aside (and meaning to disrespect to Jutes and Angles), the invaders were actually coming ashore to the _South_ to settle the fertile lands there. So they were after British ….. soil. So unsexy, right?

Roman empire had previously annexed many of its neighbors for the same reason. By late 3rd century BC, the Italian countryside could no longer feed the city of Rome. The empire responded by sacking the North African city of Carthage (146 BC) and opening coastal African fields to Roman farmers. Ruins of many Roman cities in North Africa – Timgad for example - now lie surrounded by desert, a result of not stewarding the soil.

Dani's fictitious tribe lived in the border between Eastern Roman Empire and ancient Persia, which is modern day Iran and Iraq. Persians also overused agricultural lands causing saline groundwater to rise and erode the soil, leading to decline of cities.

Our modern agricultural practices – chemical fertilizers, pesticides, deforestation monoculture etc – are causing soil erosion on a massive scale. In fact, we are running out planet to repeat this soil erosion experiment. What happens to the soil? Often – especially during a dust storm – it's what we are breathing. Asthma, anyone?

Sources:

Dirt: the Erosion of Civilizations - David Montgomery

The Collapse of Complex Societies – Joseph Tainter

Atlas of the Roman World – Cornell and Matthews

Persians: Masters of Empire

What can we do to conserve soil? Three words: compost, compost, compost. We can also - support local farmers, grow some of our own food and practice permaculture. Have you hugged an earthworm today?


	13. Altered Perception

Altered Perceptions

At Eagan's urging, the scouts shared a meal with the hunters. Tristan marveled at the strangeness of it: Arthur's knight sharing food with a band of Picts North of the Wall. Eagan chatted with Dani. He reminded Tristan of the cavalryman Nervic, and the scout uncharacteristically wished he had more time to know them – free men of Britain. He wished to leave right after though by now he longed for sleep.

'You need sleep,' Dani told him, not missing his exhaustion though he had said not a word. She was better rested of the two, having slept briefly in the supply cart during the day. 'The caravan isn't going anywhere in this dark.'

'I am fine,' he replied.

'Sure you are,' she said in a voice reserved for difficult patients, 'until you topple off in the snow and I have to tie you to your horse.' Tristan let out a humorless chuckle at the mental picture of himself arriving at camp tied up like a sack of grain.

'I will keep watch,' she insisted, 'and wake you before dawn.'

'And you must rest in Percy's cart,' he said, finding her wifely concern novel and endearing. Without further argument he went to get his bedroll.

'Or we could commandeer a wagon,' Dani suggested wickedly when he returned. 'Marius' looked comfy.'

Tristan chuckled again at the thought of kicking Marius out of his wagon for the two of them to share a tryst. His fellow knights would be shocked to know he had a sense of humor. A deeply private man, the quiet knight had lost laughter with the death of his only close friend Bedwyr several years ago. With Dani he had found it again, and savored the discovery. He lay down, still chuckling, and slept for what remained of the night.

When they finally reached camp at dawn, there was a commotion going on. They headed in the direction of shouts and yells. Tristan stared at the tableau when they halted in a clearing among several wagons, including Marius' own.

'What happened?' asked the woman.

'How many did you get?' asked Bors.

'Four,' replied Tristan without looking at the big man, distracted by the scene before him.

The lord lay dead on the ground, shot through the heart, his men at arms standing behind the body looking unsure. Facing them were Guin, Arthur and Lancelot. Guin looked like vengeance incarnate with another arrow nocked to her bow. Dagonet held the Woad boy, beside him stood a half dressed and very annoyed Percy. The surgeon did not take kindly to being awoken from a well-deserved sleep. Several other knights stood in the crowd with varying expressions of irritation, confusion and anger. The moment of danger was obviously past.

Well, that solves the dilemma of whether to tell Arthur about Marius' double dealings, thought the scout pragmatically. A few hours of sleep had refreshed him and he was his observant self again. He noted in passing how Arthur and Lancelot flanked Guinivere protectively, though she did not seem in need of protection. He tucked away the image, knowing it was somehow important. Arthur turned to the scouts.

'Armor piercing,' Tristan said, dropping a crossbow at the commander's feet. 'They're close, we have no time.'

'One of you ride ahead,' said Arthur to the scouts. 'We will follow.'

Tristan sent a meaningful look towards Dani, and she headed for one of the carts, obedient for once. The knight launched his hawk into the air and followed on his horse, glad to be moving faster, senses alert for anything that suggested ambush from the thick undergrowth. Near mid morning the trail widened and he saw a flat ice covered field ahead. The hawk flew above in lazy circles under an overcast afternoon sky.

Perplexed, he rode closer, trying to remember everything Eagan had told him of the trail ahead. Then he knew. The small pool the hunter had mentioned had obviously flooded its banks and frozen over. Early, heavy winter snow had obliterated any sign of trail and skirting the ice would be too slow anyway. They'd have to cross the ice sheet. Their chances were getting slimmer as the day wore on.

'We'll never make it,' he muttered to himself, repeating what he had told Arthur earlier at the estate.

Before he turned back, his eyes were drawn to the hawk, still making lazy circles. Suddenly it seemed his vision changed to encompass a view much larger than their present predicament. He saw the landscape transformed. Mountain peaks, shrouded in the ever-present mist, looked majestic rather than threatening. The sharp tang of cold in the air was to be savored and the resin smell of conifers was refreshing. The forest teemed with life dormant and expectant. The barren waste was breathtaking in its Winter slumber. It would be beautiful when it awoke in Spring. Guin's words came to mind. His bitterness fell away and he felt peace wash over him.

For fifteen years he had lived in Britain, and only in the past year or so he realized what a cloistered existence it had been. Never had he exchanged thoughts with anyone other than one of his Sarmatian brothers, that too seldom. He knew the rest of the knighthood was much the same, content within the confines of their thinking. They lived for the day they would return o Sarmatia, and mostly considered the years spent at their post a waste. Except perhaps Bors, who had a woman and fathered many children, though his Vanora herself was half Sarmatian, daughter of another knight, long dead.

'We're going home, we're going home,' she had sung. No wonder they felt like aliens here, even those born and bred on the Wall had been brought up to believe home was somewhere else.

In the past year he had learned to see the world through new eyes – female, Persian, Baltic, Christian, Celtic and now Pictish. There were people who found beauty here worth fighting for and now he could see why men like Nervic would be reluctant to leave. Fleetingly he wished it were his home too.

'You belong here,' he told the hawk, smiling. For the first time he felt no regret.

Author's note:

It's the season for gratitude and reflection – and some shopping – and I am very grateful to my readers, especially Ceffylgwyn and Recey for keeping me going.

Yes, in keeping with the season, Tristan is getting some valuable lessons in mindfulness. We are often so preoccupied with some desirable thing that will happen in the future we forget to live in the present until it too becomes the past. Stop to smell the roses and see the bigger picture! Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

BTW, in the movie Tristan – and the rest of the knights - pretty much operate with no sleep. As do the Saxons. This was more unreal than anything else – what are they - zombies? So I decided to let them catch some z's.


	14. Ice Crossing

Author's note:

Disclaimer – lots of dialogue in this chapter is from the movie.

I have a confession. I couldn't wrap my head around the topology and weird weather at the lake location. There is hardly any snow when the knights are rushing North and no snow where the Saxons land. Somewhere in between they are in the Himalayas. How can this be? I don't know. How does Guinevere keep from catching pneumonia? I know – she's hot! All this gave me a writer's block the size of Texas until I decided never mind!

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The caravan reached the lake, Arthur and the knights leading. They dismounted at the edge of the lake. The sky was gray and dusk was approaching. Their only hope was to cross the ice before dark fell. If luck held, they could make a stand on the trail beyond with trees for cover and the enemy exposed on ice. There was a slim chance the enemy would not risk crossing the ice in dark, and an even slimmer chance they might crack the ice. He mentioned the possibilities to Arthur.

'Is there any other way?' Arthur asked.

'No,' Tristan replied, 'we have to cross the ice.' No point in bringing up the lost trail. Without wasting any more words Arthur commanded everyone bodily able to spread out and lead the horses.

Walking slowly, too slowly, and leading nervous horses, the caravan made its way across. Ice crackled underfoot like a hungry living thing, a sound more ominous than any Tristan had heard. He would rather die fighting men, he thought, a cleaner death it would be. Dani's horror of an ignoble end flashed through his mind. Incongruously, he was reminded of something Merlin had said to him on their single meeting.

'Britain is more than a frontier to quarrel over, knight. It is living, breathing land that succors all who belong to it.'

They had almost reached the far shore when Saxon drums rang out. The refugees first slowed down to look around in confusion and then moved faster to imagined safety of the other side of the lake. Arthur stopped and looked at his knights. The men had stopped near the far shore and waited while the refugees streamed past onto the trail beyond. The moment of confrontation was at hand.

'I am tired of running,' Bors complained. 'Those Saxons are getting so close my ass is hurtin'.'

'Never liked looking over my shoulder,' said Tristan, with quiet resignation, reaching for his bow and suppressing a sigh. What he had feared was upon them; he would rather face that squarely too.

'It'll be a pleasure to put an end to the racket,' said Gawain.

'And finally get a look at those bastards,' said Galahad.

'Bet they're only half the size of Visigoths,' cracked Eric cheerfully. Gawain snorted and Galahad rolled his eyes. Eric and Gault's tendency to outrageously embellish their adventures on Eastern front had once been a cause of friction among the younger quartet. By now no one took them seriously.

'Here. Now.' Dagonet stated emphatically. Percy nodded once, never a man to waste words. Lancelot just looked at Arthur with a slow smile.

'I'm with you too,' said Dani, patting her mare and shooting a look at Tristan. She had been near the rear of the caravan, and had just now caught up.

'If there's two hundred of them,' said Gault snidely, 'even Dani will hit a few.' The woman's sorry marksmanship was a source of much wise cracking.

'Maybe the rest will die laughing,' Eric added. The woman groaned, but it had the desired effect of relaxing them a little and drawing a few chuckles. Even grossly outnumbered, at least they would face the enemy together. When Arthur snapped out quick orders however, their forced joviality disappeared.

'Percy, you're in charge. Get these people back to the Wall. Dani - ride ahead. Jols, bows and arrows for the rest of us.'

Percy and Dagonet exchanged a speaking look and then the surgeon strode away. It was possibly goodbye for the two healers. In the year past, they had become close friends.

It took some time for Tristan to absorb the implications. Distractedly he watched Jols bustle about, laying the knights' weapons and shields in front of them. Ganis, one of the farmhands helping Jols, wanted to stay and fight.

'Nine against an army?' protested Ganis, but Arthur sent him on his way.

'Ten, you could use another bow.' Guin stepped out, picking out a bow, as Arthur spoke to Alecto next.

Still Dani lingered. She bit her lips and cast an agonized glance at Eric and Gault, the boys she had mothered. They had faced odds before but not like this. Then she looked at Tristan. There was no time for goodbyes. Tristan gave her a small smile as he tested his bow, his heart a little lighter. She moved away quickly without another glance, shoulders hunched and gait stiff. The knight was reminded of the first time he and Dani had faced danger. They had come across a Saxon scouting party the past Spring and he had thought then it was goodbye. Once more time had run out. He forced his mind back on his task.

The Saxons came streaming into view and stopped in formation, like a malevolent entity pooling at the edge of the lake. He could feel speculation thrumming through the faraway figure leading the enemy, a shaven headed young man with a cruel face and a braided blond beard – Cynric, son of Cerdic. The man saw ten against an army but did not laugh. He was cunning - not one to underestimate the adversary - and Tristan resolved that Cynric would not leave here alive. The caravan's chances of reaching the Wall, and Dani's safety, depended on it.

The standoff lasted for moments that stretched into eternity. The knights were in no hurry to force the confrontation. Every moment gained for the caravan moved them closer to safety. Then the Saxons advanced onto the ice and the knights rained them with deadly missiles. Grimly Tristan concentrated on the flanks, as did the others on Arthur's orders to force the enemy to cluster – and hopefully – break the ice. He reflected with dark humor that at this range the knights had advantage in number and weapons. They could fire into the crowd without aiming. The Saxon archers would have to aim carefully and a moving man could not reload his crossbow. Cynric flung his men forward, heedless of their loss, and Tristan took cold pleasure in watching scores of them stumble.

'The ice won't break,' a shout pierced through the cold fog enveloping Tristan. The knights around him lowered their bows and picked up swords; Eric and Gault hefted their lances. Then they watched in horror as a figure ran forward holding up an axe – Dagonet!

'Cover him,' Arthur shouted desperately. Tristan had never let go of his bow. Once again he fired, this time aiming at the ones who were aiming at Dagonet.

Dagonet was in his own world. He was in the middle of the ice sheet swinging his axe. Again and again he hacked at the frozen surface, blind to deadly missiles flying around him. A cry went up from Bors. Tristan glanced at Dagonet who was down on his knees, but still hacking away.

Arthur ran to Dagonet, followed closely by Gault, lance and shield in hand. Arthur stumbled down next to Dagonet. Gault jammed his lance into the snow and propped his elongated shield onto it, offering meager protection for the fallen knight. Tristan absorbed all this in a glance and then returned to his task of covering his brothers from the advancing Saxons.

Ice broke with a thunderous roar and the Saxon army scattered. Tristan continued to fire until his arrows were exhausted while Arthur pulled Dagonet out of water. The knights frantically dragged their friend's body away from the advancing crack in the ice. On the other side, many of the enemy drowned while a few scrambled to safety, forced to retreat.

Tristan stopped to draw ragged breaths and take stock, once more the scout responsible for getting them away from danger. A look towards the far side told him the enemy would not bother them, at least not tonight. A bright full moon danced in the choppy waters; treacherous thin ice was forming quickly. He could feel the hatred emanating from Cynric, futilely glaring the knights.

'Eric,' Tristan said to knight closest to him. 'Horses.' If Dagonet lived, he would need to be taken to Percy, quickly. Eric still looked stunned so Tristan gave him a shove.

The two of them hurried down the trail to where Jols had left their mounts and returned leading several including Dagonet's. Tristan silently thanked Jols for having the foresight of leaving linens, blankets and a first aid kit on Dagonet's horse. A look at the stricken knight, being administered to by an awkward Bors, made him wonder if their friend would have use for them. The healer lay unmoving, blue and frozen, a couple of crossbow bolts sticking hideously out of his chest.

'Tristan,' Arthur ordered, 'ride fast and take him to Percy. Bors, go with him.' Quickly they secured Dagonet to his horse and, Tristan leading, rode down the darkened trail as fast as they dared. Once again the moon was their ally and soon they caught up with the slow moving caravan. The refugees, driven by desperation, had not stopped despite the dark.

'Stop the caravan!' Tristan called out harshly. A woman screamed in fear. Dani appeared but one look at his face wiped away the gladness on hers.

'Dagonet is hurt,' he told her briefly. 'Saxons have retreated. We make camp here.'

A grateful cry went up and down the line and the caravan came to a halt, weary refugees glad to drop where they were standing. Dani led Tristan and Bors to the sick cart stopped by the trailside. Percy jumped down and helped ease Dagonet's body into the cart. Gentle hands removed wet clothes from an inert body.

'Save him,' Bors pleaded with the surgeon, all animosity towards the taciturn knight forgotten.

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Author's notes:

Gentle reader, shall I save Dagonet? I shall wait for your verdict. Please review and vote – a man's life hangs in balance.

I wrote a poem to pass time while wrestling with writer's block. Enjoy!

Illogic too numerous to list

Got my knickers in a twist.

Into hyperdrive went my brain

In a desperate bid to explain -

All that is unexplained

Until it left me quite drained!

And while in logical mode

Why this ridiculous ode?

To convince my readers, egad,

Spock is not my dad!


	15. Disagreements

Author's note: By 2-0 Dagonet's life was saved. Friends and Romans - send me your thoughts.

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Percy worked late into the night on Dagonet, attended by Dani and a suddenly submissive Bors. Tristan searched out Jols and helped him with setting up camp, wanting a distraction from worrying about Dagonet. Now that the immediate danger was over, shock and anger was threatening his calm. Worse, he kept imagining his wife lying cold and dead, all that humor and mischief stilled. The cool objectivity he always relied upon was threatening to desert him.

Jols and one of the villagers – Ganis – made rounds to make sure all were accounted for and safe. Figures huddled around campfires by the trailside, grateful for the respite. Tristan paced the line, wishing he did not have to see their pathetically grateful looks; it would make it easier for him to leave them to their fate. He took a crossbow bolt out of the saddle – the resourceful Jols had found someone to curry the horse and feed it, keeping the fretting villagers busy with work – and studied it.

Whereas an arrow was a fine work of craftsmanship, the bolt was a squat, ugly device designed to cause damage. Nearly a year past he and Dani had gone North of the Wall on an expedition to investigate the rumors of pirates, who had turned out to be Saxon scouting parties. The crossbow was one of the things the scouts had brought back with them. Though the knights had scoffed and called it a fancy looking club, Arthur knew better and so did Senna.

The knight with a knack for administration knew about crossbows, and its cousin the _ballistae_, used on the continent by Roman artillery. It took years to perfect marksmanship with the elegant longbow, preferred weapon of the knights, and only a few weeks to learn to use the crossbow. The bolt traveled farther, faster and inflicted much more damage, although the crossbow itself was heavy, clumsy and slower to load. Between Arthur, Senna and Tristan, there had been tactical discussions on how to counter a crossbow attack, and today those discussions had paid off, but for Dagonet.

'Weapons reflect those who use it,' he remembered saying to Dani. The crossbow suited the Saxons – it was a machine for killing. Once more he resolved to talk to Dani about this 'taking a stand at the Wall' nonsense. Drumming hoof beats broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see the arrival of Arthur and the rest.

The knights dismounted and handed over the horses to Jols and his helpers. Arthur helped Guin dismount from behind him. Eric and Galahad helped ease down Gault, who had a makeshift bandage wrapped around his upper thigh. He had apparently been injured in the mad rush to save Dagonet, and tending to him had delayed their arrival. Tristan exchanged a look with his commander; Lancelot was not the only one whose advice Arthur sought. Tristan was the one who gave Arthur his opinions about tactical matters, and rarely those went unheeded. Despite their victory, circumstances were not in their favor.

'Nothing yet,' Tristan informed the knights with a nod towards the sick cart and Arthur made his way to it. The scout watched Merlin's daughter move into shadows, her features speculative and secretive, and wondered what she was planning. Merlin was a master of manipulation, and he decided the daughter would bear watching.

'Guinivere,' Tristan called, uttering her name for the first time. The woman looked startled. Tristan softened his tone. 'Lucan needs you.' The boy traveling with Guinivere had become attached to Dagonet. He had been desolate at seeing his hero felled and near death. Surprisingly, Horton had taken charge of the boy and moved him to Alecto's wagon. Alecto's kindly mother was keeping the boy occupied. Guin's face showed surprise at the scout's consideration.

'Thank you,' she said and set off, presumably to find the boy.

Arthur called the weary company – all save Percy, Dani and of course Dagonet – for a quick meeting. True to his character, he had already spoken to the refugees following him and had words with Alecto, the boy responsible for this whole venture. It was in a somber mood he met the others to take stock. Tristan told them what he knew.

What remained of Cynric's men had retreated to lick their wounds. It was unlikely they would force another attack after such a blow to their morale. This was the good news. The bad news was that the caravan would take at least two days to reach the Wall, and it seemed probable that Cerdic's men would reach it earlier. It was on the tip of Tristan's tongue to ask Arthur what he had planned for the rabble following them once he reached the Wall but swallowed the impulse. He did not want to know.

'Gault?' Arthur started by asking.

'I'll live,' said the young knight, pale with pain.

'To father a child someday,' quipped Eric, never suppressed for long. In the past summer Gault had taken a bolt to the other thigh - 'a close shave' – and Eric had teased him about his likelihood of becoming a father until the older man threatened dire consequences. Arthur gave him a sharp look, not in a mood for Eric's jokes right now, and the boy looked suitably chastened.

'We need time to get these people to the Wall,' the commander of the knights stated, looking at each of them. Lancelot rolled his eyes expressively. Clearly he had the same question as the scout. The rest of the knights looked at Arthur with varying expressions of disbelief.

'We can't fight an army,' Gault said bluntly.

'Let's ride ahead with this Alecto and get our discharge,' Galahad burst out, adding lamely, 'the villagers can follow.' Arthur frowned.

'The villagers will be slaughtered,' Gawain said.

'There's women and children,' said Bors, clearly thinking of his own family.

'Arthur,' Lancelot put in impatiently, 'have we not done enough? Dagonet lies near death, do you forget?' The others shifted uncomfortably at the start of yet another argument between these two. Arthur looked pained but refused to take the bait.

'I am not leaving them,' Arthur said in a voice that brooked no opposition. Lancelot did not bother to reply; he simply walked away. With that the meeting broke up. Tristan lingered until Arthur was alone.

'Merlin came to visit,' Arthur said before the scout could open his mouth. Tristan raised his eyebrows in surprise. He and Dani had once met the enigmatic leader of the Woads, the man whom Arthur blamed for his mother's death. Merlin had spoken of an alliance between Romans and Woads to face their common enemy. The old man had impressed Dani, and even the reluctant Tristan. They had argued his case before Arthur.

'If we can get back to the Wall, there may be a chance,' Arthur continued in ironic tones. 'Merlin offered his men to fight the Saxon army, if I should lead them.'

'Will you?' Tristan asked, surprised. Arthur shrugged, apparently undecided.

'What of Rome?' Tristan pressed. Arthur had spent half his life studying books sent to him by his mentor Pelagius, a Christian monk. He spoke often of the ideals and philosophies that lay behind the founding of the old republic, now empire. He spoke as often of his God and Rome's logical progression to Christianity – towards the equality of men, rational thinking and peaceful coexistence. The scout found it hard to believe Arthur would give it all up, for that was what fighting Saxons would amount to, even if he survived the next few days. The invasion would not stop, not in years.

'Rome …. has changed,' Arthur said.

'And the knights?' Tristan asked, holding his breath.

'I will let them choose, if I should stay' Arthur said, looking at him steadily, regret plain on his face. He hated himself for putting his knights through this dangerous mission, for Dagonet's injuries, for placing the newlywed couple's future in jeopardy. Tristan released the breath he was holding. If Merlin and the Woads kept the Saxon force occupied, Dani and the others might be able to leave.

'I will go back,' the scout said quietly. 'And get help from Eagan to delay Cerdic.'

'Dani said they numbered in many hundreds,' Arthur replied, looking surprised.

'You must keep her here,' Tristan said.

Arthur looked at the stoic scout for a long moment and then gripped his shoulder in agreement. Tristan wandered back to the sick cart. Dani was outside speaking to an agitated Bors. She came away to join him.

'Percy took out the bolts,' she reported in a subdued tone, absently rubbing bloodied hands. Of all the British knights save Tristan, she was closest to Dagonet. 'He is unconscious but alive. Nothing to do but wait now.'

Tristan looked over her as though seeing her for the first time – she was of medium height, wiry and dark with a thick braid down her back. She wore light leather armor, mended and patched many times. Her dark almond shaped eyes – often merry, sometimes wicked – now looked tired and sad. He swallowed an impulse to ask her to ride away with him. She smiled at his scrutiny.

'By now we should have been crossing the channel to Gaul,' she said apologetically. She had spoken for both of them when she committed them to this mission though he had not argued. 'I heard Arthur called a meeting. How did it go?'

'Arthur is taking them to Badon,' he replied, jerking a thumb towards the camp. 'It'll mean fighting the Saxons.'

'We can't abandon them,' Dani said as a matter of fact, 'they'll be slaughtered.'

'He will give the knights a choice,' Tristan told her, taking her in his arms. 'I want you to leave, go where it is safe.'

'I will not leave,' Dani said with indignation, drawing away. She looked at him closely and asked, 'what do you mean you want me to leave? Where are you going?'

Tristan debated how to tell her he was here to say goodbye again. He opted for directness.

'I am going back to find Eagan,' he told her, watching her eyes widen. 'And delay Cerdic.'

'I am coming with you,' she said after a pause.

'Not this time,' Tristan said. 'Arthur wants you here.'

'You mean you told him,' she said angrily, narrowing her eyes. 'That's a cheap trick I wouldn't expect from you.' Tristan shrugged, knowing that she would not disobey the commander of the knights but unhappy about the way he secured her cooperation. She opened her mouth to argue when loud voices sounded from the sick cart.

'Dani! Madam!' Horton called out anxiously. He had apparently been making himself useful to Percy after handing Lucan over to Guinivere. 'Percy needs you here.'

Dani said something rude under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'screw Percy'. Much as she loved the unlovable Percy, there were times she resented the thankless task of soothing ruffled feathers for the socially inept surgeon. Only she and Senna were capable of managing Percy when he got into trouble. And anytime Bors and Percy were together for more than a few moments, trouble happened. This time it was not funny, not with Dagonet lying comatose.

'You're making 'im bleed again, butcher,' Bors exclaimed.

'Out of my way, doorknob,' Percy barked back.

'Madam!' Horton bleated once more.

'Go, for Dagonet's sake,' Tristan urged quietly.

Dani stalked away with a final glare at the scout.

'I will see you at the Wall,' he her departing back. If he survived, surely he could make it up, he reasoned.

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Author's note:

Ok – the longbow versus crossbow fight bothered me. In reality the crossbow has longer range and greater accuracy. Not so in the movie. Maybe Cynric had the B team of archers.

_Ballista_ = crossbow on steroids. It's a two-man weapon, a larger version of the crossbow on a wooden stand. The _ballista_, and the _onager_ (catapult), were siege weapons used by the Roman army to wear down the defense of enemy strongholds. It was used to shoot bolts of steel at the enemy – the ballistic missile of the day – 1000 feet or more.

More questions – how did Arthur and the villagers outrun the Saxon army to the Wall with time to spare for Dagonet's burial and Arthur-Guinivere interrupted romance? I couldn't figure, so I decided to send Tristan off on an adventure of his own. Besides, I was getting heartily sick of the happily married couple. Romance is not my forte. I prefer tension, antagonism!


	16. The Outcast

Author's Note:

I didn't have the heart to kill off Dagonet. Besides I like having lots of characters to play with, seeing as I introduced five new ones myself.

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The caravan rested only a few hours. By predawn light they were moving down the meandering trail. Tristan turned back on the trail once more, refreshed after a few hours of sleep and a meal. Dani did not speak to him again – she was obviously angry - but it made him glad, in a selfish way.

It was like old times, when he used to slip out on missions without anyone being the wiser, without anyone worrying. The knights, other than Lancelot occasionally, put it down to his secretive ways. Tristan was Tristan, they would say and shrug. This time it made it easier for him to leave without another goodbye or another argument. He missed the hawk though; she had disappeared since before the fight at the lake. He had made her leave before the sky became too deadly for her.

Eagan had said they would follow Arthur's company and he knew they would show themselves if he went looking. Swift riding brought him back close to the lake by dawn's first light. Tristan slowed to a stop seeing a figure through trees, and patted the mare to keep her quiet. A cacophony of bird sounds broke the stillness from time to time.

The traitor Celt knelt at the near edge of the lake facing away, examining tracks in the trampled and bloody snow. Tristan quickly scanned the surroundings and eased out his bow. The man was weaponless and appeared to be alone. The soft sound of Tristan's bowstring being drawn startled him. He spun around on his heel and slowly stood up. Bitterness and hate was permanently etched on the man's face. Tristan watched him with calm cold eyes. He should kill the man now, he thought, but the scout was curious.

'Why do you betray your own people?' the knight asked, motioning the horse with his thighs to advance slowly.

'My people?' asked the traitor with infinite bitterness. 'Who are my people? The fat Roman lords, or their sniveling native servants?'

'You betrayed Marius,' said the knight. 'I would know why.'

'Ah yes, my master,' the traitor replied with a derisive curl of his lips. Tristan nodded to himself. He had guessed Marius had known the man - a disgruntled servant perhaps.

'My father,' the Celt said with relish seeing the surprise on Tristan's face, 'doted on Alecto. I was just a servant's son. He let my mother die of sickness.' So. That explained how the man was privy to so much information and why he was eager to betray his own. And no wonder Marius wished to stay behind – he had thought his son would help him bargain with the invaders! He got an easier death than he deserved.

The horse neighed and shifted suddenly, causing the knight to break off his ruminations and fight to keep his aim leveled at his quarry. His curiosity had cost him, he realized. The Celt had been talking to keep him distracted, and now three Saxons came running out of the forest cover to the left behind the man. The Celt meanwhile had scrambled away to take cover behind the Saxons.

There was an impasse. Tristan kept his arrow nocked; two of the Saxons targeted him with their crossbows. The Celt barked a sharp order and the crossbows wavered a little.

Tristan's eyes widened in understanding: they wanted to take him prisoner and make him talk! He thought furiously, keeping his gaze calm. They couldn't make him talk without an interpreter, however they might torture him. Imperceptibly his fingers drew the arrow farther back. He would kill the informer, and perhaps be killed in battle, thought the scout. The Celt obviously followed his thought. The clearing rang with sounds of sudden, simultaneous action.

The Celt shouted and dived sideways, narrowly missing Tristan's arrow. The scout lost balance and tumbled off his screaming, rearing horse, desperately gripping the bow, as the mare was shot down from under him. The Celt continued barking commands. Tristan rolled away from the thrashing horse, keeping it between himself and the Saxons. He reached for a fallen arrow on the snow and fitted it quickly, looking for the Celt. A bolt whipped past his shoulder, taking some leather and skin with it. Tristan shot the crossbowman but now he was without another arrow for his quiver was strapped to the horse's back.

'You're trapped, knight,' the Celt called out viciously, 'and without your little friend to help you. I have promised her to Cynric you know.' The last had the desired effect of enraging Tristan.

The knight flattened on the snow, willing his mind to calm, and watched the Saxons come closer following the curving shoreline. Curiosity would kill him, Bedwyr had told him more than once. His friend might have been right but Tristan saw one chance, and decided to take it. He shook off the encumbering cloak, bundled it in the free hand and waited.

The mare was rolling on the ground, screaming in pain and churning up snow. Tristan used the distraction, jumping up and running for the lake. The remaining crossbowman was taken aback to see the knight running towards them. Tristan threw the bundled cloak at him and the Saxon's shot went wide. The Celt continued shouting and gesturing, the crossbowman fitted another bolt and the third Saxon swung his ax back for a throw. In that split second, Tristan launched himself headfirst on the ice and shot across the slick surface on his stomach. His breath swooshed out with the impact and he prayed that he was moving fast enough in case the ice cracked under his weight. A bolt skidded past him on the smooth surface. Tristan concentrated on keeping his head up so as not to lose his nose.

When he came to a panting stop, the enemy voices sounded faint and sunlight sparkled on ice. Tristan opened his eyes and saw another face staring back at him – a dead Saxon trapped under the transparent ice. He flipped quickly onto his back and sat up cautiously, favoring a throbbing knee and stubbed toe.

The two Saxons advanced on him slowly, watched by the Celt. He inched back cautiously towards the far bank that was scattered with dead Saxons, frozen in hideous contortions until Spring thaw. Luck was with him and he saw spent arrows here and there, a few within reach. The Saxons were too engrossed in keeping their footing on the treacherous ice to notice him reach for the arrows. It was over quickly, the crossbowman going down first and the ax-man losing his ax in mid-throw.

Celt and knight eyed each other from opposite banks, at an impasse once more. The man was not out of Tristan's range but far enough to duck out of the way. The chill was seeping through finally and the knight's arm shook a little. He debated crossing the ice once more. No doubt the Celt would run and the scout would waste precious time hunting him with an injured leg. The scout burned with irrational anger at the Celt but right now he had a mission: to find a way to delay Cerdic. Next time, he vowed to himself lowering the bow, he would shoot first and ask questions later.

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Author's note:

I was curious about the Celt, another gray unexplained character in the movie. Why is he a traitor and why is he eager to betray his own people? How does he know so much and is able to read a map? Why does Tristan shoot him out of that tree? I hope you like his story.

Also explained – why Marius wanted to drop out of the caravan despite being pursued by Saxons.


	17. Land of Milk and Honey

Author's notes:

I do not have home internet access so my online time is limited. This has made me lax in thanking all the people who have been following/favoriting my story and – most importantly - helping me write by posting reviews. So thank you:

LesleyAnn87, WhiteOreos, Kanna-yamamoto, Luna-Weasley123, Recey2010, cutiepie, Ceffylgwyn, Druidarcher, Elladanct, Em-Jaye, , Padfootcc, Sarasva, Gunslinger1204, Peacewithinchaos, Selene344, Ammaviel, Shygirl – I apologize if I missed anyone.

Please read and yes – reviews are lovely! And I do read most stories even if my reviews are short due to time constraints.

Obviously, as explained in the beginning of chapter one, this story (and its prequel 'New Friends, New Enemies') serves as a prelude to complex issues in our current times. As a concerned parent of young children, these issues are close to my heart, so in addition to entertainment, I also try to share information. However it lately occurred to me that many of my readers may be quite young, and may find serious discussions upsetting, or it just may not be everyone's cup of tea. Therefore, I will post warnings from hereon when there is **Serious Stuff** in the footnotes. Feel free to enjoy the story regardless! Opinions and any inaccuracies are mine.

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'Tristan!' Eagan's voice sounded in a loud whisper and the scout turned to see a face peering at him from behind trees. Gratefully Tristan stepped into the shadows to join him, the adrenaline that had carried him across the ice seeming to flow out of him.

'Eagan,' Tristan said, leaning against a tree, 'the caravan needs time. We must delay Cerdic.'

'Delay that army?' Eagan repeated incredulously. 'We are but a half dozen.'

'Merlin has offered Arthur truce, and help, if he reaches the Wall,' Tristan stated heavily. The Pict went silent at that. The druid kind, most especially Merlin, had great following among the Northern tribes, even those who had not joined the forest dwelling Woads but lived in villages, much like their lowland cousins.

'Come,' said Eagan, 'you need help.' Tristan followed them with one more look backwards. The Celt was long gone. The stricken horse lay still, hopefully out of its misery.

The knight gladly sat down next to a small campfire. His body was simultaneously chilled and burned from his sail across the ice, even through the tough leather garments he wore. One of the tribesmen, a silent older man, tended his injuries; another offered him food and a fur across his shoulders. The scout nodded his thanks, no longer finding it strange to be in their midst. Vodatini lands lay along the East coast by the North Sea, and the coastal fort Segedenum had peaceable relations with the tribe.

Now that the immediate danger was over, Tristan coldly assessed his situation. It was not good. He felt remorse at abandoning the injured horse, and guiltily thankful it was the spare and not his faithful gray. He was now on foot and without supplies, but for the bow in his hand and the scimitar attached to his back. He still had the throwing knives under his vest, and his chest was possibly permanently imprinted with their hilts. His ribs and collarbone hurt dully to remind him that they'd taken the brunt of his near-suicidal dive across the lake. His cloak was gone and his leather trousers were nearly worn through at the knees. Even the tough tunic showed signs of wear – fingers of cold air found their way in through cracks in leather - and he drew the fur close. Wouldn't it be ludicrous if he survived the Saxon ambush and ice crossing to die of cold?

'We saw the fight,' Eagan broke into his ponderings, eyes shining with admiration. 'It was a good hunting. Truly Arthur is as Merlin says of him – a great leader of men.'

'He is,' Tristan replied, assessing the man shrewdly. He was glad it was the youthful, idealistic – and longing for adventure - Eagan and not his uncle, the suspicious Nechtan. But for the middle-aged healer, the rest of the band was youthful as well.

'We saw your friend fall,' Eagan said, munching on dried meat. 'How does he?'

'Time will tell,' Tristan replied, and added, 'that, and if they can get to Badon.' Eagan didn't disappoint him.

'You have a plan?' the hunter asked. 'I would repay my blood debt to the Saxons.'

'Yes, I do,' said Tristan slowly and thoughtfully while chewing honeyed bread. An idea had been growing in his mind since the ice crossing.

'I am with you then,' said Eagan. 'Besides, if ten can stand against two hundred, why not six against a thousand? It'll be a story to tell my children's children.' He shrugged and grinned, reminding Tristan of the once reckless Eric. The past year in Britain had matured the boyish knight considerably, not that it made him any less silly.

The knight's plan depended on being able to outdistance the enemy on their march South while keeping to forest cover. Eagan guessed that Cynric's humiliating defeat would delay Cerdic for a short time at least while the two forces regrouped and Cerdic meted out whatever justice he deemed fit. Morale was as important as battle skills, and the Saxons' morale had taken a terrible beating already, especially with the defeated Cynric being the leader's son.

'Maybe he'll rip out Cynric's beard, one hair at a time,' said Eagan with relish. The leader of the Pictish band sent out a runner to ascertain location of the Saxon. The man disappeared quickly, the highlanders being used to swift travel on foot. In this rocky, uneven country, even hardy native ponies found traveling difficult.

By mid morning they were on the move, traveling Southwest through forest trails and leaving the icy mountains behind, Tristan's hurt leg in a rude but effective splint. Fortunately nothing was broken; salve and cold numbed the pain, and a borrowed hunting spear helped ease the pressure off it somewhat. He reflected with irony that the horse could not have followed the twisting trail through dense forest and rocky ground anyway. The exertion kept him fairly warm, and moving without much pause kept the muscles of the injured leg from stiffening.

Even with Tristan's injury the little band traveled faster than the army hacking its way along the old Roman road. This time the dilapidated condition of the road was in his favor, for by late afternoon he and the small band were ahead of the Saxon army, the runner having joined them recently. They moved through Vodatini lands dotted with small villages, but the round houses they came across sat empty, a few in smoking ruin. Food and belongings lay scattered, mute testaments to a hasty flight. The countryside was eerily silent. The tribesmen looked grim.

'Your people,' Tristan said gruffly to Eagan, 'They are safe?'

'Safe as they can be,' replied the young hunter, 'Some went to the fort at Segedunum – men who want to fight. Families have gone North to Din Eidyn, the strong place of our people.' A sharp picture came to Tristan's mind: he soared above a majestic humpback mountain. A fort city stood on top, commanding views of the country all around and many miles out to the seas, both East and West. A strange monument of upraised stones arranged in a circle sat in a depression near the top of the mountain.

'It is a holy place,' Eagan was saying, 'as well as a fort.' Tristan drew a sharp breath and said no more. He feared that poor sleep for so many nights was beginning to give him hallucinations. Either that or he was getting fanciful in old age. No doubt Dani would say that it was time to put him out to pasture with the horses that were past prime. He ached for her and with difficulty pulled his mind to task once more.

The knight estimated that the army would reach the Wall near Badon fort by nightfall the next day. That was surely their destination since Cerdic wished to kill Arthur, and the traitor would have told him where the knights were bound. Eagan agreed with him. By now they had acquired two donkeys from the abandoned villages, laden with supplies, and camped close to Dere Street. The old Roman road was familiar to him now. The little band rested lightly that night for they had much work before dawn.

The Saxon army spotted the tribesmen on the road from afar the next day. The army stepped up its march following the pitiful band, now caked in dungy mud and clad in rags. The Picts darted into the forest to shake off their pursuers. The front ranks of the army split into bands to hunt them down. After the humiliating defeat at the lake and loss of several scouts, the Saxons needed some sport. They cheered at seeing the small band of desperate looking survivors. Order gave way to chaos as Saxons stomped through the underbrush, waving wicked long handled axes and yelping like dogs on a hunt.

Then a strange thing started to happen. Saxon warriors began to dance, waving their arms and slapping at their bodies. Their yelping turned to shouts of alarm. Hundreds of vengeful bees swarmed over the men, buzzing and stinging bare faces and arms. The men staggered about in the dark forest, cursing and slapping themselves, causing their brothers to suspect an ambush. More men crashed into the forest, colliding with the ones coming out and adding to the mayhem. The Saxons futilely swiped at the buzzing insects with axes, and more than a few screams of anger and agony rang out over the buzz. Saxon men at arms poured out of the forest, utterly routed by the smallest of enemies, and ran back towards confused their brothers, bees obligingly following. Soon almost the entire army was in the throes of chaos. The ensuing panic claimed several casualties as Cerdic's commanders restored order by bashing heads.

The visits to the round houses had yielded several dozen skeps, filled with bees in winter slumber, naturally left undisturbed by marauders. These made wonderful gift packages to lead the Saxons to. Tristan made note to describe the scene to Dani, then thought guiltily she might be angry instead – for being left out of the fun. He missed her now and the jokes she would tell. Next to him, watching from a hidden vantage point farther down the road, Eagan convulsed with laughter.

'I did not think it possible,' he said, wiping a tear from his eye, 'they look uglier.'

'You may be right,' Tristan agreed. It occurred to him belatedly that it would be a very angry army that would march on Badon now, but he shrugged philosophically. He doubted that the invaders were planning to be merciful anyway. He took stock of the situation.

The army would take the rest of the day to recover from scratching itself, splinting broken limbs and restoring discipline. Then they would have to either wait for the bees to settle down or clear them out with smoke before the ranks could march through in orderly fashion. It should give the knights ample time to leave the Wall. Tristan had seen the Saxon leader from a distance; even angry, the man moved with elegant economy. Tristan fervently hoped they would not engage this leader in battle.

'What made you think of it?' Eagan asked, as his men started arriving, exhausted and filthy but euphoric. They slapped and congratulated each other. It was a story that would be told and retold, becoming bigger with each telling.

'Britain is living, breathing land,' Tristan quoted, 'that succors all who belong to it.'

'You sound like Merlin,' Eagan grinned.

'It was he who said it,' replied Tristan.

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Author's note:

Din Eidyn or Dun Eideann was a hill fort, a stronghold of the Vodatini tribe, site of modern day city of Edinburgh. 'Dun' means fort, and they were often built on a hill for defense.

Ancient peoples of Britain lived in 'roundhouses' – circular or rectangular - made of wattle and daub, and plastered with lime.

The bee idea came from the movie 'Avatar'. No I do not know a lot about activity of bees in winter. I am guessing.

Skep – distinctively shaped artificial hive made of wicker or straw, and plastered with mud or dung, used in Britain since ancient times for beekeeping. Honey was used as a sweetener.

** **Serious Stuff** **

I imagine most villages had their own source of honey, as well as most things they needed for daily living. Herein lies my lecture for this chapter – **Local Resilience**.

Not too long ago, people knew how to make necessities within their own villages or town. They learned from an early age how to grow and preserve food, spin wool or fiber, make cloth, craft furniture, repair tools, build a house or a boat. Luxuries and specialty items came from trade. In short, their needs were simple and they could take care of themselves through a localized economy. They were _resilient_.

In contrast, modern societies are _brittle_. We are dependent on ATMs, delivery trucks, supermarkets and long supply lines for daily necessities. We are at a point in history when rebuilding **Local Resilience** is not just nice but necessary, due to **Peak oil**, **Climate Change** and global **Economic Turmoil**.

In 'The Transition Handbook: from Oil Dependency to Local Resilience', Rob Hopkins describes Peak Oil and Climate Change as 'The Head' – meaning central issues – for the transition away from the current energy intensive, wasteful and polluting economy that is leaving more and more people behind, even in wealthy nations.

Peak Oil means peak in production of _conventional_ crude oil. It is generally believed we are post peak since last decade, hence fluctuating prices and faltering economies. _Unconventional_ crude oils e.g. deep offshore (Deepwater Horizon) or oil from Canadian tar sand (Keystone XL) are much more expensive – in terms of extraction, refining, environmental impacts and conflict potential.

Climate change – yes we know what that is thanks to multiple record-breaking disasters every year. They get bigger and 'badder' the more carbon we put into the atmosphere by burning fossil fuels – oil, coal, natural gas – and clear cutting forests, living lungs of the Earth.

GLOBAL ECONOMIC TURMOIL – the global economy of today is dependent on a stable climate and cheap fuel. That explains the turmoil, doesn't it?

Why **Local Resilience**? It makes a nice cushion should the ATMs and long supply lines fail. Moral of this chapter - you can make your honey and eat it too.


	18. Home Sweet Revenge

Author's note:

Another fun chapter – enjoy!

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It was with some regret and not a little guilt he said goodbye to Eagan and his men. Eagan believed that if Arthur consented to ally himself with Merlin, the knights would stay too. Tristan had said nothing to deny it though he himself planned to be away as soon as he could. By the grace of some god he never prayed to and despite all that had happened, he was still alive and he had reason to believe his wife was too. He would not throw that away. Dani had to see reason, and surely there was some way she could go away with him to Sarmatia. He wondered suddenly if Dagonet still lived. His sacrifice had saved them all.

Now that immediate danger was over, the scout was aching and weary. It was less than a half-day riding to the Wall; on foot Tristan hoped to get there before nightfall. If he was very lucky he might run into the caravan on its way back. Fortunately his leg was holding up, he hoped, and he had food, cloak and weapons picked up from the villages. The hawk still had not reappeared but he didn't dwell on it, fearing another bout of the strange visions he had been having.

After a while a faint sound of hoof-beats alerted him to riders. He took cover behind trees, arrow nocked to bow, hoping they were knights but just in case they were not. The irony that he was armed with Pict weapons and on the wrong side of the Wall did not escape his notice. If Dani were here, surely she would have had something amusing to say. His time apart from her had cleared his head and made him realize that he no longer wished for the old solitary, joyless life. He missed her terribly and hoped she had forgiven him by now.

Sound of familiar hoofs gave away the riders. Tristan stepped out onto the road, favoring the injured leg, weapons held away from body. Two riders – Lancelot and Dani - pulled up close to him and stared disbelievingly, but the scout had eyes for only one of them. She jumped down and flew to him for a long, wordless embrace.

'Thank Fire and the Elements you are alive,' she said, her voice shaking with emotion. 'I was going back to look for you.'

'Glad you could join us,' Lancelot's sardonic voice cut through the fog of emotions enveloping Tristan. 'Arthur sent us to see if the road is still clear.'

'They are a day behind, at least,' Tristan said, trying to focus. Lancelot looked full of questions – with a touch of envy and respect - but fortunately decided there was no time for explanations.

'One of us is to continue to the fort,' he informed the scout, 'to let them know we are bringing refugees.' They were not out of danger yet, not by a long shot. Dani sobered at the reminder and pulled away.

'Arthur wants Senna to ready the fort's defenses,' she said, looking serious. One look at the curly haired knight told Tristan what Arthur's second in command thought of that. The scout resolved once more to make her see reason, soon.

'You two ride to Badon,' Arthur's second in command decided. 'You need rest, and a healer by the looks of it.'

'Dagonet?' asked Tristan at the mention of healer but Lancelot was gone. Dani exclaimed and bent down to look at the splinted leg.

'Dagonet is unconscious still,' she told him. 'but Percy has hopes. Come, I need to get you to the fort.'

With that the two of them mounted Dani's mare, Tristan with some difficulty as he had trouble bending the knee. The woman soothed the tired and nervous mare. By late afternoon they could see the Wall and before they even reached it, Senna rode out to meet them. The sentries had obviously been keeping a lookout for Arthur and his men. Senna fell in next to them. Tristan let Dani do the talking, tired, aching and thankful to be back.

'Dagonet is badly hurt,' Dani told the man briefly and without preamble. 'Marius is dead but Arthur and the others are bringing Alecto. He is the one the Bishop wants. Arthur is bringing refugees as well and they will be here soon. A Saxon army is on their tail. And Tristan is hurt.' She finished almost in one breath. Senna did not waste words.

'Aili is at the clinic,' he said. 'She can see to Tristan. Let me handle the Bishop.'

There was a crowd waiting for news at the fort, including an expectant looking Bishop. Senna stopped to talk to the man. The scout was glad. He had no wish to exchange civilities with such lowlife, certainly not now. The dirt road was choked with people – and rumors of Arthur's mission in Woad country - and Dani's horse was forced to slow to a trot. A crowd of children including several of Bors' followed, pointing and staring. Tristan frowned to see several brave ones giggling as well. They were not the only ones: auxiliaries on duty gaped at him, and a few of the townsmen stopped to stare as well.

The knights often returned from a mission covered in mud and blood; no one minded for it's dirt and blood that make a man. But today, Tristan realized with chagrin, he made quite a sight dressed in mismatched fur, leather and tartan, complete with a ragtag woolen cloak that had seen better days. Of his original clothes, only the leather pants remained but one leg had been cut away at the knee. Below the cut the leg was encased in a rude splint made up of hastily cut branches and bound with whatever leather strips and vines the Vodatini healer had on hand. His boots were bound with rags to cover cracked toes. To top it off his hair, usually braided and combed daily with a neatness that was characteristic of the scout, was a matted mess, and several braids had been singed off on that wild ride across the ice. Now that immediate survival was assured, the scout's dignity was taking a beating. He scowled ferociously at the children; they giggled harder.

'And you smell,' Dani told him, sniffing. 'Dung?' Wonderful.

They arrived at the clinic where Aili and Two waited for them in the courtyard. Tristan let out a quiet sigh of relief when the clinic gate closed behind them, locking out the children and noise.

'Here, let me take her for you,' said Gilly, taking the mare's reins. Gilly was Bors' eldest, and Jols had found work for him caring for the knights' horses.

'Your father is alright,' Dani answered the unasked question. The boy looked relieved. He held the mare steady for Tristan to dismount – like an old man, thought the scout. Now that he was safe, relatively speaking, the wretched knee decided it was time to be uncooperative. The jouncing ride had stiffened it and the leg buckled under him. He suppressed a sigh and let the women assist him inside. There was an uncomfortable moment when Aili asked for news.

'I hear the commander will be back soon,' the petite midwife said, 'with everyone else.' Tristan was at a loss; she was obviously asking about Dagonet. Dani answered her.

'Dagonet is hurt, badly,' she said, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder, 'but he still lives.' The midwife looked stricken and Two let out a wail. Tristan looked away, uncomfortable with any display of grief, even when he shared it.

'Percy is doing what he can,' he offered gruffly, glad the woman hadn't been there to see Dagonet's battered body or watch Percy take out the bolts. Aili pulled herself together to work on the injured leg, cutting away the worn leather trouser further and pressing lips together to keep from sobbing. Dagonet had trained her well, he noted to keep his mind off the fact that his leg was black, blue and stiff, and several toenails were blackened. The medication she administered had the uncomfortable effect of taking away the numbness, and replacing it with a stinging sensation, and soon she wasn't the only one pressing lips together. By the time Aili was done administering to his other cuts and bruises, the scout was gratefully looking forward to sinking into bed in Dani's quarters, tired beyond words and aching everywhere.

'Bed,' he mumbled, gripping her shoulder.

'Bath,' the woman replied firmly, wrinkling her nose. 'You smell of cow dung. And you'll undo Aili's good work if you catch an infection. And you'll be stiff as a post tomorrow. Be reasonable.'

'I hate reason,' groused the scout but let her lead him to the clinic's bath. Two was waiting for them, having readied a steaming hot bath. She giggled to see the scout hobble in stiffly, arm draped over his wife's shoulder. Tristan nodded his thanks and flicked his eyes significantly to the door. The girl didn't move.

'What,' said the scout.

'She is waiting for your clothes,' said Dani tartly, 'unless you are planning to keep them?'

'She can wait outside,' said the scout, setting his jaw. He would have to be three days dead before he undressed in front of Two.

'I need her help to get you out of this costume,' Dani explained patiently, 'unless you can keep standing while I do it?' Tristan gripped her shoulder harder, wanting even less to topple over in front of Two. How he hated it when someone else was logical, especially when it was a woman. It seemed his fate to be subjected to all manner of indignity on this day, with none of his brothers to help him. He must have said some of it aloud.

'Who were you planning to ask,' said Dani curiously, 'to save you from Two and me?' Two giggled again. Tristan slumped with a sigh and let the women help him out of his reeking clothes before settling stiffly into the bath. The bathwater revived him somewhat.

'Burn them,' he told the girl, eyeing the smelly bundle on the floor. Two scooted away finally, still giggling, clutching the bundle of clothes.

'What's with the cow dung?' Dani asked, looking tired but curious as well.

'Where there is mud, there is dung,' Tristan said with shrug, not wanting to elaborate. The little band of saboteurs had plastered mud over themselves for protection and there had not been time to be fastidious about the fact that Picts let their cattle run about everywhere in the village. The woman looked baffled but did not press farther.

With a kiss for Tristan – placed carefully on a relatively clean spot - she disappeared to attend to herself and procure a late dinner from the clinic kitchen. When she came back to help him out of the bath, a welcome smell of herb bread and vegetable stew wafted through the air. Now clean of body and combed of hair, the scout was suddenly ravenous as well. Tristan smiled to see her dressed once more in one of her simple gowns, a shawl over her shoulders, then he frowned when she handed him a tunic to change into. The garment was homespun and much mended, and short.

'It has seen better days,' she said apologetically.

'When Hadrian was still building this damn wall,' grumbled the scout but shrugged it on awkwardly anyway. It was obviously from the clinic; in addition to linens and dressings, there were a few old loose garments for patients in the store, donations mostly. A few had even belonged to deceased patients who had no one to claim their belongings. The scout reflected with dark humor that he was probably in possession of a shirt off the back of one of Percy's less fortunate victims. He shivered with cold.

'I have asked Alan for the _hypocaust_ to be lit,' Dani explained. With the healers and Dani gone, the hypocaust had not been lit for ten days or more, and the building was freezing. Aili the midwife had her business in town, and Percy's manservant Alan had quarters in the soldier's barracks.

'But I found this for you,' she held out another garment, a length of faded woolen cloth that looked suspiciously like…

'A…. _toga_?' he asked incredulously, inspecting the proffered garment.

'They're what Aili could find in a pinch,' the woman explained, trying to not laugh, 'and she asks that you don't chafe the leg in trousers just now.'

'I am not wearing that,' said the scout, once more setting his jaw. A man had to put his foot down at some point. 'Why can't you fetch some clothes from my room?'

'Because I am not your loyal hound?' she countered. Tristan glared.

'I am not walking into the men's barracks this late,' said the exasperated woman. 'Men have been drinking to celebrate Arthur's return. I don't want to be mistaken for one of their lady friends.' Tristan had a room in the administrative building along with the other knights, Arthur, Jols and senior men at the fort. He could hardly argue with her logic so he continued glaring instead.

'And I am tired,' the woman said crossly. 'Why are you behaving like Eric?' The youngest knight was still growing out of his awkward and occasionally petulant youth. It was the last straw.

'Fine,' grumbled the scout, grabbing the _toga_ and wrapping it around himself to keep warm. Like most Sarmatians, he considered the _toga_ an effeminate affectation peculiar to Roman noblemen. It surely couldn't get much worse. He was suddenly thankful none of the others were here to see him.

'Did I mention Senna's waiting to talk to you?' Informed the woman with a straight face, 'and your deputy. He wants to make a report of the fort's security.'

'You're enjoying this,' the scout realized.

'Maybe a little,' she said with an impish grin. 'Maybe you should have taken me along.'

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Author's note:

I hope you enjoy the fun at Tristan's expense before things get serious again. Sometimes when life hands us indignities, we must chin up and look on the bright side: surely our friends are having a laugh.

_Toga_ – men's shawl like garment, at one time only used exclusively by male Roman citizens for symbolic value. Men of all stations also wore short sleeve tunics.

_Hypocaust_ – under-floor central heating in wealthy Roman homes in cold climates, such as a fort commander's house in Britain. Under floor tunnels directed hot air from a central furnace to various rooms. As I mentioned earlier, the clinic in this story is the re-purposed fort commander's house. Thus, it would have private bath and toilet, and yes, a _hypocaust_. Such luxury was not seen again until possibly the 1900s.

** **Serious Stuff** **

The Romans were master builders and engineers. In the course of building fortifications, cities, bridges, viaducts and roads, the Empire went through a prodigious amount of …. **Energy**. As mentioned in the footnotes to earlier chapters, Romans conquered others to appropriate their resources, one of the most important being energy – slave and animal labor, timber for heat and fuel, land to produce food (energy source) etc – renewable for the most part. Surplus energy raises the standard of living of those who can afford it.

The modern society functions on a vast amount of non-renewable energy – that of carbon based fossil fuels: oil, coal, natural gas etc. Fossil fuels are not just used for heating or cooling, generating electricity and running automobiles, but also to produce food, plastic, pharmaceuticals, machines, tools, synthetics, asphalt, building materials and most things we now take for granted. Surplus energy makes it possible for you and I to sit in front of the computer and enjoy this story, instead of working to put food on the table and clean clothes on our backs. Our 'needs' have grown in proportion to our societal complexity.

Our economy is built on burning fossil fuels, particularly oil, and thus it is experiencing contraction, thanks to **Peak Oil** combined with **Climate Change**. Climate change is accelerating thanks to the carbon we are pouring into the atmosphere. Scientists believe the 'safe limit' of carbon to be 350 ppm (parts per million). We are now close to 400. In fact, human activity has changed the Earth to such a degree, we might as well give it a different name, according to leading US environmental activist Bill McKibben, author of 'Eaarth: Making Life on a Tough New Planet' and founder of

Remember diminishing returns on social complexity leading to catabolic collapse? Most of us perceive it in monetary terms - falling net incomes or increased debt loads lead to reduced quality of life. Cities perceive it as declining revenues and soaring budget leading to cutting of public services. Building **Local Resilience** – living simply, making/growing necessities and sharing – is a way to soften the impacts, especially on the poor, the elderly, the disabled, people with dependents and the marginalized. That's pretty much all of us at some point in life. And all of those things are also increasingly recognized as good for the soul. Good karma all around.


	19. A Changed World

Tristan met the two men in the clinic's waiting room, wrapped in a cloak in lieu the offending _toga_. Dani had relented and found it for him. As Tristan helped himself to dinner, they discussed the Saxon army's possible whereabouts, Arthur's arrival, the logistics of putting up the refugees in a town already filled to capacity. Tristan's deputy morosely relayed the trouble he was having with the townsmen and refugees already here: bickering, petty thievery and what not.

Senna talked at length about the preparations he had been making at Arthur's behest for such an eventuality. The man actually looked cheerful; he had a gift not just for administration and building, but also a penchant for studying warfare. In the year past he had poured his passions into the fort and its defense. In the past summer, he had taken out the _onagers,_ refurbished them and drilled a company of auxiliaries in their use. The massive catapults, having been in storage for many generations, were restored to their former deadly glory. The smithies had been kept busy churning out springs and other parts for the catapults, and weapons for the armory. The leather and woodworkers had been occupied with making sheaths, arrows, tools and sundry supplies. Senna had negotiated with landowning locals to find farmland for the retired soldiers who would stay on in Britain, and Arthur wanted to leave them able to defend themselves. In return the veterans gladly gave their services. The landowners too cooperated when they saw the advantage of having a well-equipped local militia.

Arthur and Senna, often with Tristan quietly listening, had spent many evenings in animated discussions about esoteric military tactics used by Roman armies on the continent. Whatever his feelings about being drafted into service for the empire, the administrator was not above borrowing successful ideas and technology – from Romans, Greeks, Persians and whoever else. Most times the scout was content to listen in; he was fascinated when Senna recounted how small forces of cavalrymen held forts along the Balkan frontiers against much larger enemy forces. Seeing the _onagers_ in practice, even Tristan was grudgingly forced to admit the ingenuity of Roman engineers of old. Other times Senna and Arthur had grilled him, and others, about the Saxon invaders – their weapons, clothes, habits and motives. Knowing the enemy was crucial to defeating him.

'Why did they land so far North?' asked Senna, scratching his stubble. 'After all there are Saxon kingdoms to the South. And why did they go for Marius?'

'He invited them,' Dani offered unexpectedly. The men looked at her in surprise.

'A village elder Percy was taking care of told me Marius was sending grain out to the sea,' she explained. 'He was courting them.' Tristan remembered the elderly man with lash marks on his back he had seen in Percy's care.

'That makes sense,' he mused aloud. 'With Rome gone, Marius thought he could strike a bargain with Saxons to keep him in power against North tribes. He had his son make dealings with them.' Senna nodded his head; the scout had told them about the Briton traitor.

'And that's why Marius wanted to drop out of the caravan,' finished Dani. Now all the pieces of the puzzle were in place.

'Saxons will not be anyone's army,' said Tristan's deputy, a veteran close to retirement, shaking his grizzled head. 'They would have taken him first.'

'And used his villa as their base,' Tristan continued his musing. A Saxon base in the heart of Pict territory - he realized with a start - close to unguarded shores and with no other Saxon or Angle tribes to contend with. As far as Cerdic was concerned, it was unoccupied land. No wonder Merlin wanted Arthur to take on the Saxons. That explains the offer of fighting men. He shook his head; all these double-dealings and treachery were giving him headaches and making him want even more to get away, and take Dani with him.

'Does Arthur know?' Dani asked sorrowfully, thinking of their commander.

'He knows enough,' Tristan answered carefully. He had not mentioned to Senna Arthur's intention of possibly staying behind to fight the Saxons. It was still undecided as far as he was concerned. He had to talk to Dani about that, alone. The woman yawned and the meeting broke up soon after, the men bidding the couple to get rest.

Hardly anyone slept that night though, except probably Dani. She fell asleep with the ease of relief from tension after finding Tristan alive, the exhaustion of two long days scouting ahead of the caravan, tending his hurts and even some guilt at not following him. She slept soundly with her arm wrapped around the scout and face buried in his shoulder. The knight felt peace return if briefly though he had not yet been able to bring up what was foremost on his mind.

Once more within a space of ten days, Tristan lay awake listening to the sounds of a fort very much alive. The sounds he heard on this night however had a different quality of urgency – that of a fort whose inhabitants were on edge in expectation of attack. There was an air of controlled fear, excitement even. The reaction in the town beyond the fort walls was a different matter, he knew. News of the Saxon army had leaked out somehow and spread through town like a wildfire. Senna was hard pressed to keep a lid on panic.

Tristan awoke late next morning to the welcome sight of a familiar hawk sitting on the windowsill, shutters open to let in sunlight.

'So you decided to come back, eh?' a fond grin split the scout's bearded face as the bird dropped into the room and hopped onto his wrist. 'Watch it, I don't have my glove.' The bird chattered back, suddenly talkative like her master.

A morning meal had been left for the invalid, Tristan decided, spying a tray of steaming soup, bread and porridge on a table nearby. There was also a set of his own clothes, much to his relief. Dani was conspicuously absent, causing Tristan to grin once more. The night before, after the men had left, she had fussed over him until he told her, half exasperated, that he hoped Gault would return soon so she had someone else to nursemaid, causing her to bristle with indignation. But she riled him often enough, most recently with the _toga_ incident, that he was happy to return the favor.

He offered some of the bread to the bird but she turned up her beak at it with an offended air. The knight laughed, his mood considerably lighter despite the impending danger the fort was in. Soon he would have to find Senna and Dani, and help with the preparations – until official release, he was bound to Arthur's command – but he was reluctant to end the precious moment of tranquility.

When at last he made his way outside the clinic – leg only slightly stiff, amazing what rest on a proper bed could do - it was past mid-morning. The first thing he noted was that the fort was more crowded than usual with civilians and an air of palpable excitement emanated from them. The knight saw and heard not just with his eyes and ears but with a perception radically altered by the events of the past eight or nine days. The fort he had known for fifteen years had changed in the short time its commander had been absent and the active legionaries had been busy packing to leave.

On any typical day the fort gates were open from dawn to dusk, and in between civilians hawked goods and dispensed services within the compound. Today was not a typical day; in addition to the traders and workers, there were able-bodied men milling around arguing and talking amongst themselves. They seemed agitated rather than fearful and he slowed down to hear snatches of conversation. He recognized several of the men, and a few women, as refugees from coastal villages and little hamlets that had been plundered by Saxons, or abandoned in fear. They had come to the Wall looking for protection but the enemy had followed them here. Among them were retired legionaries, their sons and men of their wives' families, Britons for the most part.

The knights had always seen civilians as weak people who had to be protected but the scout now realized with a start that these were proud, strong people who were used to wresting a living from the sea, the field or the smithy. They were tired of being harassed, tired of running. They knew the knights were leaving, and the protection of Rome was leaving. Initial panic had given way to purpose. They wanted to face the enemy and defend their own. They were not unlike his native Sarmatians, in spirit if not skill.

The knight was impelled by his own urgency. He was freshly reminded that he had not been able to speak to Dani about his plans to get them away. They had been too exhausted, and then busy, the night before. Despite her impish humor, his heightened perception had sensed an underlying sadness, and it had made him uneasy and unwilling to broach a difficult subject. He had a nagging suspicion it would take some persuasion. He wanted to thrash it out before Arthur and the others arrived and the chance for private conversation was over.

Tristan made his way to the Wall where more than the usual number of sentries stood staring into the distance to the North. He was told respectfully that the commander's party had been spotted. Tristan turned the other way, however, to look South where a number of men were out in the field removing burlap covers from the refurbished _onagers_ and gathering supplies for the expected siege. Carts brought loads of fieldstones and deposited them next to each _onager_. Elsewhere men were stacking hay and barrels of pitch.

A cry announced the arrival of Arthur and the knights leading a train of carts, men and animals on foot. The ponderous gates in the Wall were once more opened. The hawk flapped her wings on Tristan's arm and the commander of the knights raised a hand in salute to his scout.

'It's all very exciting, isn't it?' a familiar voice spoke at his elbow, and Tristan turned without surprise to see Nervic next to him.

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Author's note:

I hope you like my explanation for why the Saxons were landing North. Remember the village elder punished by Marius for wanting some of the grain Marius was sending out to sea? I wondered where he was sending it. In reality, Saxons and Angles started colonizing Southeast Britain since early 400s.

I introduced the character of Senna because I thought that Arthur surely needs someone to run the fort and organize for the eventual battle. The real Arthur did not have a director and production crew on hand LOL, and native Britons did not have had the technology of catapults. However, siege weapons were a part of the Roman army's arsenal.

'By 300 AD, every Roman legion went into battle with 10 catapults and 60 ballistas' – source: 'Ancient Roman War and Weapons' by Brian Williams.

** **Serious Stuff** **

I expanded the last part of this chapter while thinking about peak oil blogger Dmitry Orlov's essay 'In Praise of Anarchy part II'. The word has negative connotations to us, he says, but _anarchy_ exists everywhere in nature. Herds of deer or flocks of birds, for example, organize themselves through anarchy to migrate, mate, raise young, defend against predators and secure territory. There may be leaders, dominance and struggle for power, but nature is far more egalitarian. Mutual cooperation is the rule, and there are no established ranks, i.e. _hierarchy_.

In human societies today, and in King Arthur's day, bureaucratic _hierarchy_ has replaced spontaneous organization for a common purpose. The innate tendency for humans to organize reasserts itself, however, if governance becomes weak or unresponsive. We see it in the DIY and barter system that is springing up across the globe in gaps left by the faltering formal economy as individuals learn to cooperate with family, friends and neighbors to make a living, receive emergency services and find social benefits. This 'gift economy' strengthens the bonds of community because it occurs between individuals, based on association, trust and hope for return in kind.

This was a difficult chapter to write. Ever since I learned about Peak Oil and Climate Change a few years ago, my perception has altered radically. I now see glass and steel skyscrapers as a folly of the cheap fuel era, and bedroom suburbs as the next ghost towns. But just as problems are interconnected, so are solutions.

Plus I was tired of Hollywood stereotypes in the movie:

Roman = jerk

Christian = coward and jerk, ok not Arthur

Civilian = sad looking serf, Ganis is the notable exception

Woman = buxom barmaid, except Guinivere. She multitasks between being warrior princess, damsel in distress and woman with wardrobe malfunction.

No, I am not Christian. I believe that diversity of cultures, thoughts and perspectives strengthens the human race, just as species diversity strengthens ecosystems. Permaculture is alive!


	20. Knight, Interrupted

Author's Notes:

Kateheartpeace – it was wonderful and refreshing to read all your reviews. I definitely got some inspiration for the next chapter from them and reorganized my narrative based on your critiques. I greatly appreciate the time you put into reading through all the chapters, yes a few are somewhat long and verbose, but I tried to juggle between prose and dialog, seriousness and comic relief etc. You have single handedly written more reviews than anyone else, so kind. This is my first attempt at fiction writing, so I am truly flattered! I must admit that having a few decades on most other fanfic writers helps enormously. I will try to answer some of your questions in the A/N at the end.

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'You have been planning this for a while,' Tristan said conversationally, turning back to the work going on in the fields.

'It's been an open secret,' the cavalryman replied, waving to a figure working on the field, 'that Rome would withdraw even the auxiliaries. There is much fighting on the continent. For myself, I have no wish to be buried on foreign soil. Neither do many others.' Like many recruits in the ranks of the auxiliaries manning Hadrian's Wall, Nervic was born to a Roman father and a British mother. It was clear now that he was part of a concerted effort to retain Arthur, and as many of the Roman forces as possible.

'Senna isn't one of them,' Tristan said frowning, 'but you seem to have enlisted him in the past few days while we were away.'

'Senna is a practical man, open to reason,' the cavalryman replied approvingly, 'and he loves Badon. Segedunum thinks highly of him.' Segedunum was the fort where Nervic was posted, at the Eastern-most tip of the Wall. The summer past, Tristan and a party including Senna had visited Segedunum, and the latter had helped rally the fort officials there. Saxon raids had hit the coastal fort hard, and it had been part of Arthur's relief efforts to send them some of his knights. It had been an eventful visit.

'You manipulated Arthur,' Tristan said coldly, 'you and Merlin.' And that Woad girl too probably, the scout added silently.

'I just nudged here and there,' Nervic said in reply, grinning unrepentantly. 'Arthur ….' The rest of his reply was lost in a cacophony of noise – horses clattering into the courtyard below, children yelling, dogs barking, _pilums_ thudding in salute. Tristan turned and went down the stairs to join the returning knights, favoring the injured leg. In the short time he had stood on the parapet, it had gone slightly stiff.

A few of the knights called greetings to Tristan but they were a silent, subdued and tired company for the most part. The scout let out a silent sigh of relief when he spotted Dagonet's horse; it was loaded with saddlebags, not a body. If Dagonet was still in the sick cart, he must be alive. Silently Tristan joined the British knights who stood waiting expectantly for their discharge papers.

Dani came to stand next to him, taking one of his hands in her own and giving it a squeeze. A streak of soot on one cheek told Tristan why he hadn't been able to find her: she had been in the woods making an offering to her people's deities. It made him uneasy for no reason he could imagine. Her people revered the Elements, and Truth, but when she had attempted to explain her people's concept of Truth, the scout found it unfathomable. Her tribe was one of the 'Free Tribes' living on the Southern shores of the Black Sea. The Free Tribes resisted assimilation by the powerful Persian Sassanid Empire because they believed that, in Truth, the Empire's greed was responsible for the barrenness of the Tribes' lands. He brought his mind back to the present with an effort.

It was a grim scene. No one was in the mood for further niceties. The Bishop made a fuss over Alecto, pretending to not notice the tension. Eric helped Gault towards the clinic. Percy appeared to inform Arthur – pointedly ignoring the Bishop - that Dagonet was not well enough to stand and receive his papers. Bors grunted and replied that he would take Dagonet's papers for safekeeping. No one argued with the big man. Arthur stared coldly at the Bishop.

Without further ado – the Bishop was shrewd enough to know when to stand down – the scrolls were handed out. Tristan took his impassively, unrolling it to see that it was indeed a guarantee of safe passage through Roman outposts, at least the ones still controlled by Roman legions. Of course many outposts on the continent had fallen to Huns and such already or had no functioning Roman government left, so it was questionable how much value the papers were of. He shrugged and let it be.

'Bishop Germanus, friend of my father,' Tristan heard Arthur say. There was a wealth of bitterness, and sadness, in the commander's voice. Rome had changed, and now Arthur knew just how much.

'Alecto's father will be buried, once my men are settled,' Arthur informed the Bishop tonelessly, omitting the lord's titles. 'You may join us.'

'Ah, so good of you,' the Bishop said, waving his hands vaguely 'but I still have …. much to do before my departure.' Senna grinned and winked at Tristan. The previous night's discussion had included a few anecdotes about the Bishop's nosy inquiries into Arthur's management of the fort. Tristan distrusted the motive behind it, knowing the Bishop to be capable of calculating treachery. To his knowledge, Rome's leadership did not like men of principle, only men obedient to its authority.

The scout looked down at the paper in his hand; the words blurred before his eyes. Dani and the Baltic knights were bound to four more years of service and were to follow Arthur to Rome – Italia, the center of the Western Roman Empire. Tristan had resigned himself to going with them, but now his soul rebelled once more. He had seen enough of treachery and deceit, death and destruction. He felt a growing urgency to speak with Arthur.

Dani had told him the story once, was it only two weeks ago? Many years past in a small town outside Constantinople her previous commander had secured her release from a _lanista_ who had then owned her, with money from his company's treasury at Percy's behest, and in return she had agreed to a contract to serve him. Commander Marcus was in charge of a mobile cavalry that provided reinforcements to Roman infantry forces garrisoned in towns near the Black Sea.

Dani came from a tribe of desert nomads who lived East of Constantinople, the great capital of the Eastern Roman Empire, on the South shores of the Black Sea. She became the company's guide/scout in the chaotic tribal territories, full of alliances shifting as the sand and codes of honor as touchy as the venomous desert creatures, around the fringes of the sprawling metropolis. Later she followed the commander to legion posts on the Danuvius border and became his eyes and ears in those tumultuous frontier towns. As a woman, she had no official position with the auxiliaries but the same fact allowed her to mingle with civilians more freely, many of whom she met as assistant to Percy. Also through Percy she became attached to the Sarmatian auxiliaries – 'auxiliary to the auxiliaries'. An outcast from her tribe, she had learned to make herself useful to survive. Only Arthur might have the authority to release her from her remaining term of service.

The men moved towards the bathhouse – they all smelled of a hard journey – and some levity was restored with the receipt of discharge papers and the promise of a relaxed meal. Dani, Aili and Two took charge of Dagonet, giving Percy some much needed time to attend to himself. The boy Lucan clung to Dagonet's litter, so he was included in the train of women with Guin and Alecto's mother bringing up the rear. Alecto remained behind to be fussed over by the Bishop. Horton hurried to his master; his master ignored him. Tristan absorbed all this with a glance before following the knights, keeping his ears open to what Arthur was saying. He had no chance to speak to the commander though as Senna fell in next to Arthur, making reports regarding the fort's readiness along the way. Beyond a grateful look and a clap on the shoulder, Arthur had no chance to acknowledge the scout either.

Uncharacteristically Arthur joined his men for a meal at the tavern after their ablutions. Usually he ate in his office – knowing that his presence inhibited the knights' hangers on - but today was a day of celebration. And raucous it was too, leaving Tristan frowning with frustration. He was seated next to Arthur but the commotion and interruptions made it difficult to have a conversation, let alone a serious one.

Vanora bustled about, passing out platter of bread, cheese, meats and honey. Bors whispered something and attempted to pull her into a hug. She slapped him handily, looking pleased. A couple of serving girls followed in her wake with a flagon of ale and a pot of vegetable stew. A mangy dog scurried about underfoot, keeping a sharp lookout for both scraps and unpredictable booted feet. The knights raised rousing, and irreverent, toasts. From the kitchen came more than the usual banging of pots and utensils. When things quieted a bit, Arthur turned to Tristan; he was aware that the scout had been waiting to address him.

'What happened to you on the trail?' Eric interrupted, leaning across the table. The scout frowned, having no intention of launching into a long narrative. He cast about for a brief account. His eyes caught sight of Two arriving to greet her father, her sister Four and Baby Eleven in tow. He stared.

The children wore colorful additions to their usual garb, bits and pieces of attire that was outlandish, unmistakably Pictish and quite familiar. Two was proudly wearing a cherry red tartan scarf. Four carried Baby Eleven, snug in a rag tag, albeit clean, woolen cloak. Tristan glared at Two; she waved back with a grin, no longer feeling the slightest awe for the formidable scout.

'They seem to like you,' Gawain nudged him, looking surprised, 'the children.'

'Tristan is a married man now,' inserted Lancelot, 'perhaps even a soon to be father.'

'No wonder they were so quick to wed,' this from Galahad.

The scout choked on his ale under the interested gazes of the men close to him – Lancelot, Galahad, Gawain and a grinning Eric. He had been married less than a fortnight and there had been scarcely time to be husband, let along 'soon to be father'. Unlike some of others, he was not used to trading banter or being the center of one. Gawain chuckled and slapped him on the back.

Arthur interrupted the byplay. The commander excused himself, inviting Tristan to come along, and the scout was glad to leave the silliness behind. Before he could address Arthur, however, a clerk arrived to tell him that Marius' burial services were prepared.

'Friends,' Arthur turned to the knights. 'I will oversee the burial of Alecto's father. I will also hold a short memorial for our fallen brothers. Anyone wishing may join me.'

Snorts were heard about the first part of Arthur's announcement but with the next, the company grew thoughtful, remembering fallen comrades and friends. Even now Dagonet was in serious condition, and for a time they had contemplated having to bury him on the grassy hill outside the fort covered with numerous mounds – empire's soldiers in their final resting place, many of them far from home. Tristan sighed and bided his time, following behind the leader. All the British knights present followed, grumbling audibly. The Sarmatians had followed Arthur for so long, and felt so much more comfortable in each other's company, they seemed incapable of any other course of action.

'A funeral for that scum! Fancy that!' Lancelot spoke to himself.

'You're just jealous you didn't get to do him in,' Galahad jibed. Someone chuckled, probably Bors.

Along the way a solemn Alecto and his mother joined them. The widow looked grieved, or perhaps just sad, even though the late lord Marius had clearly abused her. Tristan raised his eyebrows in surprise at seeing Guinivere and Lucan trailing behind; the Woads had been found near death in Marius' dungeons and he could not fathom why she would want to attend the funeral of a man she had killed. He resolved to keep an eye on her.

Arthur, true to his nature of taking responsibility for everything, said a few words – albeit woodenly – for Marius, something about losing one's way. The knights looked skeptical but kept more or less silent out of respect for the widow. As Horton, Alecto and a couple of Marius' men covered the lord's body in soil keeping with the custom of their faith, they moved on to a more recent set of graves, those belonging to members of the last group of Sarmatians to come to Britain. Each mound had a sword sticking out of it, the metal not completely lost to rust still. Arthur's eulogy was simple and moving. Gawain looked at the ground, wiping away a tear, and Bors mumbled some prayers, drunkenly. Even Lancelot's sarcastic expression softened.

'Let us not forget their sacrifice,' Arthur finished simply, 'and choice.' The commander looked away in silence to a grave in the distance, one without a sword. Guinivere followed his gaze, Lancelot followed hers and Tristan looked thoughtfully at all three.

The company broke up. Arthur looked lost and far away as he walked towards his father's grave, perhaps for a last farewell. The British knights wandered around to say goodbyes to friends and kin. Eric - the only Baltic knight in attendance – looked around with morbid curiosity. Guinivere followed Arthur and Lancelot made a show of not noticing as he walked back to the fort. Tristan wandered through the graves - pretending to look for Bedwyr's – as he maneuvered closer to Arthur and the Woad. Part of him was still wary of her and he was equal parts curious and apprehensive, the latter in case she pulled a knife on Arthur, being after all Woad. More likely she was using her feminine ways to manipulate him, the scout decided. His orderly mind couldn't categorize her, yet, and mysteries attracted him. Snatches of conversation drifted to his sharp ears.

'We are blessed and cursed by our times,' Guinivere said to Arthur.

'Perhaps the curse is of our own making, and the blessing,' Arthur interrupted her.

'And my foot,' muttered the scout rudely, perplexed as usual at philosophical double-speak. He preferred substance and logic.

Tristan was not sure what he expected to hear. He sorrowed for his friend. No matter how skeptical the knights had been of the greatness of Rome, Arthur had lived and fought for it. That dream ended, the mission ended, Arthur felt bereft of purpose. Tristan moved away, not wishing to hear more. Guinivere's declaration unsettled him, partly because he felt his future somehow wrapped up in it.

Author's note:

_Pilum_ – short spear, standard issue weapon for Roman foot soldier

_Lanista_ – owner or operator or a gladiatorial school, which sometimes had women or dwarves as sideshows

Dani's fictitious nomadic tribe is from the region of modern day Armenia. In the 400s and 500s, this region was the border between the Eastern Roman Empire and their rival, the Persian Sassanid Empire. Cities in this region were quarreled over, and lost/gained, between the rival empires. Ancient Persian religion revered truth telling, but I just made up the 'ultimate truth' bit.

KHP – here's your answers:

I like having some more knights too, and they are not always brotherly. I thought the movie could have used a few more, especially conflicting characters e.g. Percy vs Dagonet. I purposely made Percy a real crab, more on him will be revealed. Variety is the spice of life!

Regarding Dani's origin, I wanted her to be from as far away as possible since her thoughts were to be the story's perspective. Well, Rome extended all the way to the seas on North South and West, so I decided to get her from Persia, which was the archenemy of Roman Empire for many centuries. Plus you can basically make up a fictional nomadic tribe. I made up her name and the name of her weapon, short sharp sounding words.

Glad you like Tristan's character portrayal. I am showing him as a loner but an intelligent and curious fellow. I thought the knights in the movie were most uncurious. And he's not quite sure of himself all the time either. It's more fun to make them a bit bumbling at times, no? About the relationship between him and Dani, they start out as comrades and the romance is an added layer. They still remain comrades and as they are older than the typical couple of their times, I thought it's okay to skip the sugar. I got them hitched because I wanted to get on with the story and I decided early on that I cannot write *graphic* romance. Even sweetie pie stuff bores me to tears. I prefer tension.

Definitely we can learn about history through fiction. X defeated Y in the Battle of Z can be deadly dull unless you are a history buff. History often repeats itself because we learn it but do not learn _from_ it. Human civilizations have repeatedly upset ecological and ideological balances by through violence – against nature, each other, self. It is most educating when we can see ourselves in the 'other'.

I included little notes about leather repair, farrier etc to remind readers that the 'simple life' was full of hard work. Nervic's mom should be older – good catch. I think I meant to say late forties. My bad.

The prequel kind of happened. Characters just popped onto the screen and took off. I had the story playing in my head and kept writing too furiously to acknowledge any reviews. The first story establishes the cast of characters. The second story is slower because it has to merge with the movie.

About the various fortifications, I read about most of them in the books I listed throughout the prequel, e.g. 'Hadrian's Wall in the Days of the Romans' by Embleton and Graham. I also looked through the internet at various pages though I cannot verify their accuracy. Remember this is fiction and enjoy!

** Serious Stuff **

'We are blessed and cursed by our times' – I thought that sums up the current generation's predicament. We (in Western societies) are blessed with personal freedom, physical security, comfort, material possessions, accumulated knowledge of generations and technology. At the same time we are often starved for time, bonds of family and tribe, comfort of spirituality. As a species we are haunted by multiple threats – physical and perceived. We are hard pressed to make complex choices based on predictions about the future, sometimes on faith alone.


	21. Call of the Amulet

A/N – finally a chapter to explore Lancelot! I thought he was kind of left hanging in the movie.

Kateheartpeace – some of your questions answered in A/N in footnotes.

It may be a while before I can update. Life demands attention.

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Once more, Tristan went in search of Dani, feeling more than a little irritated at her continued evasion and a deep unease that he most likely shared with every other inhabitant of the fort. At the clinic courtyard a harassed looking Jols squared off with Percy's sour looking manservant Alan, standing arms akimbo. The objects of their altercation lay around them, jars of pottery filled with dormant rosebushes of various shapes and sizes, Percy's inexplicable passion. Tristan shook his head in disbelief hearing Jols patiently explain to Alan one more time that, no, rosebushes were not a priority for the wagons that were being loaded for the knights' departure from Britain.

'Is Dani here?' the scout asked Aili, the petite midwife who was bustling about within. Dagonet lay motionless in the recovery room – a small niche curtained off from the larger room used for seeing patients.

'I haven't seen her,' said the midwife, and hesitated before adding, 'I should check on the refugees. I hear some have frostbites and such. They had a rough journey, but I can't leave him.' She gestured towards Dagonet.

'Gault?' asked the scout, looking around for the other knight who had been injured.

'Sent to his room, Sir Tristan, for we are short of space here,' she replied, gesturing this time toward piles of partially packed clinic supplies. 'He is healing well, just needs rest.'

'I will watch Dagonet,' Tristan offered. He thought the midwife would make an excellent companion for the gentle healer, if he lived. 'How does he?'

'He sleeps,' the woman informed with an expression of deep concern, 'but he hasn't woken long enough for me to feed him, even a little broth. Thank you.' She took a satchel of supplies and left with a last backwards glance towards Dagonet.

Tristan made himself comfortable by Dagonet's bedside while he waited for Dani to return. He was pleased to see the healer had regained some color and was breathing evenly. He wondered how the man would fare on their upcoming arduous trip. His own injured leg throbbed a bit now that he had been up for several hours, and he was glad to rest.

He closed his eyes and started to make a mental inventory of things he had to do. First, check on his faithful Grey. Thinking of the horse brought a flush of happiness. He had a few associates to say goodbye to, chief among them Cunomori's apprentice. He wondered if the boy would like to leave with them. Despite Senna's preparations and drills with the town militia, the fort would surely fall; the enemy numbers made it inevitable.

During those long discussions in Arthur's office, battle tactics were not all that the administrator had talked about. In less enthusiastic tones, Senna had recounted stories of ghost towns and forts he had seen on the Balkans' journey from the Eastern provinces to Britain the summer past as Rome gave ground to increasingly daring Barbarian raids. The Roman army on the continent had been weakening for long, and had been completely wiped off in places, victim to sheer numbers and tenacity of the enemy. Senna's group had camped at abandoned forts and outposts that they had expected to find manned. This was not how Tristan had planned to leave Britain, sneaking away before an expected assault on the fort he had defended for so many years. Nor could he think of the ragged holes in Roman territories that were now lawless or occupied by Eastern Barbarians. His fist clenched with the effort to clear his head of futile, circular thoughts of feeling trapped.

He must have drifted off, for he woke with a start from a nightmare of walking endlessly through the deserted ruins of Badon Fort, looking for Dani, his friends, anyone alive. Footsteps haunted him but he could not see anyone. Once awake, for a long moment of near panic he could not distinguish between dreaming and reality. There were indeed footsteps, familiar ones. Automatically clapping a hand to the dagger at his waist, the knight took deep breaths to steady his pounding heart and dispel the lingering sour aftertaste in his mouth. Lancelot's voice came to him.

'You are staying here?' the First Knight asked, sounding surprised.

'Dani offered me a spare room,' Guinivere replied, setting down a bundle. 'Don't worry. I won't stay long. Neither will you, I hear.' Both she and the scout waited for Lancelot's reply, the latter with a certain amount of amusement despite the faint nausea and breathlessness he was still feeling. He had not missed the Lancelot's interest in their captive/guest. Guinivere herself was obviously out to enlist powerful men for her cause.

'Tomorrow morning I leave for Sarmatia,' replied the knight, 'with some of the others. Arthur goes to Rome.' If Lancelot hoped to provoke the woman into saying something about Arthur, she disappointed him.

'Oceans of grass, sky bigger than you can imagine,' she said in the faintly mocking tones the scout now associated with her. 'Isn't that what you told me?'

'You could come with us,' Lancelot offered after some hesitation. 'The Saxons will be here soon. They won't be merciful.'

'So I should cast my lot with the mercenaries of Rome?' Guinivere's voice dripped scorn.

'The world is bigger than this cold little island,' Lancelot snapped back, equally angry. 'I plan to live in it.'

'The world you remember has moved on without you for so long, you may not recognize it,' Guinivere's voice became cajoling now. 'This place, here and now, is real. Listen to it, Lancelot.' They all listened, the amused scout in his secluded corner, to the sounds of a busy fort – carts rolling, horses snorting, peddlers hawking, people laughing, a bird calling, a hammer falling on anvil. Listening to the familiar and reassuring everyday sounds, Tristan's pounding heart steadied at last.

'Look,' said Lancelot in a softer voice, 'my sister gave me this amulet, so I would return to her safely.' It was the amulet Tristan had seen Lancelot hold many times, most recently during the eulogy Arthur gave for fallen friends.

'Perhaps she gave it to you because you might _not_ return, but she wanted you to be safe anyway.'

'And you? There is no safety for you here.'

'Why do you care?' she asked bluntly.

'You made me think, and question myself.' Lancelot replied slowly, reluctantly, but sounding more sincere than the scout remembered him ever being. 'I never dreamed of the future before, but I do now. You asked me if I plan to marry, have sons. You and I can have that life.' The last came out in a rush. Guin remained silent, possibly shocked by Lancelot's offer. Tristan was. Only Lancelot could be in love with three women within the span of a few months, he decided. Or maybe he's really worried about being bored in retirement.

'You said you would have left me,' she said finally, 'in that dungeon.'

'I was wrong,' Lancelot admitted. Tristan raised his eyebrows and waited to hear more; Lancelot had been making all manner of confessions lately. 'I was so caught up – following the amulet, wanting to return to one who loves me – it sometimes made me blind to other things.'

'When you love something, you fight for it,' Guinivere said. Their conversation reminded the scout of the arguments between Arthur and Lancelot, each earnestly trying to convince the other but neither succeeding.

'I have fought, fifteen years, for the right to return home,' Lancelot told her. She seemed to be considering.

'Staying here now is suicide,' the knight added, completely ruining any chance he had with Guinivere.

'Don't let me keep you, Sir Knight. You must have much packing to do, before you start running from the Saxons.' Guinivere flared. Lancelot muttered a curse and stormed out. The curtain dividing them was pushed aside and Tristan found himself staring back into the shocked eyes of their guest.

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Author's note:

I thought there was too little of the Lancelot-Guinivere romance angle. He's such an intense character so I decided to expand. I thought Lancelot potentially does have a soft side – but it's not explored much. Plus he did sacrifice himself for Guinivere. I hope you like him.

KHP – here are some of your answers:

About the discharge papers, the story is set at a rather late date – 452 AD + 15 years. I have disregarded the 15 years to keep things simple.

The Western Empire officially ended in 476 AD when the last Western Emperor in Rome was deposed. Long before then the Emperor had lost control of most parts of Europe due to the fall of various cities, loss of troops, infighting among various generals etc. It was chaos, so naturally it makes one wonder what good is a piece of parchment and how the Bishop's party arrived unmolested in Britain.

Bill McKibben is the founder of organization called

No I have not read the book you mentioned but the theme is recurring.


	22. Commander of the Sarmatian Knights

A/N – Had this chapter almost completed so decided to finish. Back in May/June.

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'You! You're the one who's always skulking around,' Guinivere said coldly, 'watching people.' Tristan put up an eyebrow. He found it refreshing that she at least seemed to have no fear of him, as most Woads did. The people who were referred to as 'Woads' by the Romans, were not one tribe, but a group of warriors composed of individuals from the various Northern Pict tribes. Their purpose was to harass the Roman forces into leaving Britain, or at least staying South of the Wall. They displayed their commitment to the cause by permanently tattooing their bodies with blue dye - or woad – and hence the name. Tristan knew he was known and feared by most of them.

'I am watching Dagonet,' he replied calmly. 'You two came in to argue, loudly.'

'You weren't watching Dagonet when I was speaking with Arthur,' she returned sharply. The scout found himself admiring her. She hadn't been fooled.

'Merlin left you with us,' he said, scratching his beard, 'to enlist Arthur in his cause, I suppose.' Again she surprised him by failing to take the bait.

'Saving our home is Arthur's cause,' she answered seriously, 'as it is mine. If he turns away from destiny, it will haunt him. As his friend, surely you can see.' Her calm composure and cool stare gave away nothing of her recent ordeal in Marius' dungeon. Not a tremor had betrayed her when she had wielded bow against Cynric's forces. She was not one who would be cowed by even a knight. Tristan estimation of the woman went up several notches.

'Lancelot has never offered for a woman,' the scout mused, shifting tactics and looking for a chink in her armor, 'as far as I know. He comes of a good family.' That finally got a reaction. Guinevere glanced away, looking flustered and young. She was quite young, the scout realized with a little shock, scarcely more than a girl despite her lethal skill with the bow, and delicately pretty in a simple borrowed gown. Her aloof bearing, steadfast courage and serious conversation made her seem much older. Being Merlin's daughter had obviously placed great responsibilities on her, and matured her beyond her years.

'How is Dagonet?' she asked finally, clumsily changing the subject. 'Lucan asks for him.'

'He still sleeps,' Tristan informed her. Privately he would believe in Dagonet's recovery when he saw the healer open his eyes. Percy could be heard arriving in the outer rooms and the woman took the opportunity to escape the scout's scrutiny, murmuring a vague excuse about being needed elsewhere. The knight heaved himself out of the seat, testing the injured leg and went out to meet the surgeon. He might know of Dani's whereabouts. He was getting worried.

'In town maybe' said the surgeon shrugging, 'Arthur is waiting for you in his office.' It occurred to Tristan that after today he might not see the surgeon again, if indeed Arthur stayed on in Britain. He paused.

'I have never thanked you,' he began, a little awkwardly, 'for saving her.' The surgeon looked at a loss as well. No one ever thanked the dour Percy, or made conversation. He pursed his lips and nodded.

'Why did you do it?' asked the scout even though he had promised himself he would never pry. Dani had been a stranger to Percy - another injured patient, but the surgeon had gone to considerable trouble to free her. A convert to Christianity, he had adopted a Pagan girl as family. It was most uncharacteristic of the unsocial man. Being asked personal questions was also unfamiliar to Percy and the tall man with short-cropped iron gray hair scowled, looking as though he would not answer.

'I had converted while in Constantinople,' he answered, carefully weighing his words, 'but I had questions the brothers could not answer. The monks do penance but cannot forgive others. She asked me if a person might be reborn into a new life. And Jul – Commander Marcus needed a guide wise in desert ways.' This was obviously as much as he would say for he turned away to look in on Dagonet. Tristan suddenly realized that the dour surgeon might not always have been this way. He had obviously been a friend to the late commander Julianus Marcus.

'Tristan!' Arthur smiled and rose from his chair behind a large disorganized desk overflowing with tablets, scrolls, parchment maps, inkpots and an errant stylus. Dust motes dancing in a ray of sunlight coming through an open window disappeared as the commander walked forward to take the scout's hand.

'I don't know how you did it,' said Arthur quietly, 'and I wish there was time to hear the tale. We owe our lives to you again, old friend. And so do the people who came with us.' At the mention of this he sobered and moved to a side table burdened with boxes and scrolls. The scout studied him. A strongly built man in his mid-thirties with a shock of dark wavy hair and intense green eyes, responsibility sat heavily on Arthur. It always did, even when they had been boys.

'Arthur, it is a short reprieve,' Tristan reminded him unnecessarily, 'before the Saxons regroup and march on us.' At most it would be a day and Arthur would have to make his decision soon, if he would leave or stay with the militia that would defend Badon's remaining inhabitants.

'Pelagius told me there is no worse death than the death of hope.' Arthur said, taking out a small box. 'My mentor is dead, but my life has been built on his teachings.'

'I thought as much,' the scout said with a sigh, 'you are not leaving.' Now or ever, because the refugees he had brought back and the ones already here would need his protection. What would the knights think? Tristan didn't think anyone else knew.

'The people who followed me here, they have hopes and dreams.'

'And you will sacrifice yours.'

'I must make decisions I can live with,' explained Arthur, looking pained. He had to be thinking of Lancelot. They were inseparable, even when they quarreled, and Arthur had more than once asked the other man to travel to Rome with him.

'And you will make peace with Merlin,' marveled the scout. The commander did not air his grudges but the one he had held against the leader of the Woads was one the knights all knew of. Arthur's mother, a Pict noblewoman who had married a Roman soldier against her family's wishes, had been killed in a raid soon after the Sarmatians had arrived. The boys had grieved with Arthur, for the lady had made the homesick boys welcome with her kindly ways. She had instilled in Arthur a respect and understanding for different peoples. Her teachings, as much as that of Pelagius, had shaped the man Arthur had become.

'Mother never finished this,' Arthur said, looking at a delicately colored tapestry on the wall above the side table, exquisitely detailed but marred by unfinished patches. Tristan joined him in looking it, a little puzzled. He had seen the tapestry many times but had not paid it much heed. It showed a lively settlement, sheltered by the Wall. On closer look he could see a Christian house of worship, recognizable by a distinct cross. On the foreground was an oak grove, which the scout knew, was sacred to Picts and Celts alike. To a side was a statue of a goddess, clearly Roman by the manner of her dress. 'She used to say that if all the threads were the same color, we wouldn't have a tapestry. The colors, though, they must be in harmony or there wouldn't be a story. She left the story unfinished. I understand now, I think.'

'Arthur, the tribes have been warring for centuries,' Tristan said doubtfully. 'Do you really think the Saxon threat will make them forget old grudges?' The tribes of Britain were notorious for their quarrels and blood feuds. In fact it was just such divisions that Romans had exploited when they conquered Britain.

'That is why I must first forget mine,' answered Arthur simply. Tristan bowed his head in respect, thinking that this was why the knights felt compelled to follow this man. The commander of the Sarmatian knights would never ask of others what he himself would not do. When he looked up again, Arthur offered him the small box.

'What is it?' asked the scout, once more thrown off balance.

'What you came for,' replied Arthur, 'as I said, I would give the knights a choice. It has been an honor to serve with such men as you.' Tristan opened the box and caught his breath. Inside was a freshly prepared scroll stating Dani's status as a freedwoman upon payment of debts owed and a request for safe passage through the territories of Rome. Somehow Arthur had found time to prepare it; the sand on the ink looked fresh still.

'Arthur, I …I am grateful,' the scout said and shut the case, once again awkward in expressing thanks on behalf of the woman who had become his life.

'I would not thank me yet,' came the cryptic reply. Arthur held out his hand again. Tristan flushed at the realization that the scroll was to be given only to the woman for whom it was intended, if only she asked for it. To do otherwise would be an insult. Arthur would not turn her out. Wordlessly he handed it back.

'Will you join me for supper?' Arthur asked and the scout nodded, not trusting himself to speak past the obstinate lump in his throat. 'Good. I have invited all the others for supper at the meeting hall tonight. It may be the last time we take a meal together as brothers.' It might also be the last supper for some of them, Tristan realized. He felt an acute discomfort at the thought of walking away from Arthur and those who would stay, most likely Percy, Eric and Gault. The uncomfortable silence was broken by Senna's voice describing the fort's features to the guests he was escorting to Arthur's office.

'And here is the Commander's office. The Commander prefers to stay in the officers' barracks,' Senna finished with pride, as the party arrived. Sentries straightened at their posts – armor creaking and weapons scraping - and tried not to look alarmed at the sudden influx of strangers, obviously Woads despite the absence of war paint over their tattoos. Merlin looked around with interest, trailed by a wary Nechtan, a grinning Nervic and a curious Guinivere. Tristan's deputy - now captain of the fort militia - brought up the rear and waved the sentries to their ease.

Arthur had been expecting the guests, it seemed. He exchanged a long, guarded look with Nechtan – his first meeting with a native kinsman - but extended a courteous invitation to the party. Tristan's eyes met Merlin's and once more the knight couldn't look away from their depths.

'Good luck Tristan,' said Arthur to the scout still rooted to the spot. Tristan flushed once more as he realized he had just been dismissed. The matter to be discussed in Arthur's office – for the first time ever - had no part for him. Something made him turn and look back at Arthur as the leader gravely exchanged some words with the Woad woman. The shaft of sunlight falling on his head made a curious halo and for a moment he appeared not as a man but as a connection in time and place, a shared point in history. Tristan had the unshakable feeling that Arthur would survive to live a long life, and the fate of their island home hinged upon it.

Walking away, the scout pondered objectively whom Guin would choose between Arthur and Lancelot. There was no doubt about the mutual physical attraction between her and the First Knight, actually between any woman and the First Knight, whereas Arthur treated her, and most people, with a distant courtesy. At first glance they seemed to have little in common – she a forest dwelling Pagan Woad who had been prosecuted for her beliefs, and he a worldly and literate Roman officer, Christian and much older in the bargain. She came of a matrilineal people who had been tenacious in their determination to rid their land of Rome. He came of a people who swore loyalty to the _paterfamilias_ – clan father – above all and regarded non-Romans as 'Barbarians'. But she felt a different kind of pull for the commander, the scout realized. Arthur and Guinivere were two of a kind – the kind that lived for others - no matter what attraction she might feel for Lancelot.

It was clear to Tristan now why Merlin had left her with Arthur, so they might know each other. Daughters after all were common coinage to secure alliances between leaders and Guinivere seemed willing enough. In the past Tristan had sometimes envied Lancelot, but today he felt sorrow for the curly haired knight.

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Author's note:

Yea – what brings Arthur and Guinivere together anyway? I thought it would be nice to do a back-story on Arthur's egalitarian ways. I hope that reader will feel kinder towards the oft-maligned Guinivere.

Picts were a matrilineal society. A man's heir was his sister's son. They existed as a distinct people until about 10th century after which they merged with other Scottish races. Pictish language is extinct and they left behind little writing, mostly strange swirling symbols on stone. From the BBC UK website.

Romans often made pacts with Barbarian chieftains to aid in conquest of their neighbors. The ambitious Queen Cartimandua of the Brigantes allied herself to Rome in the first century AD and famously betrayed King Caratacus of the Trivonantes. Caratacus led a failed rebellion against Rome and sought refuge with Cartimandua. She handed him to her Romans allies for political gain. In fact, I based the character of Rigana (New Friends, New Enemies) on her.

** **Serious Stuff** **

Ok the 'threads of many colors' is a not so subtle. I refer to **Diversity** – of people and languages, arts and literature, cuisine and custom, rationalism and beliefs, most importantly – way of thinking. Diversity of people is a regional adaptation. In **permaculture** – which is the art and science of designing human cultures with respect for and understanding of nature's limits – great value is placed on diversity.

A forest untended by the human hand teems with life and gets along just fine, whereas any farmer knows the frustration of pulling weeds, eradicating pests, tilling the ground to make it ready for plants and replacing lost nutrients with fertilizer. Somehow the forest supplies its denizens with food and shelter, all the while regenerating itself. This is because of diversity – not just in species, but their scale, need, physical space occupied, use to other species. Trees sequester carbon, excrete oxygen, stabilize soil and create microclimate. They also shelter and feed wildlife; in return wildlife pollinate and scatter seeds. Roots bring nutrients from soil to leaves for plants to grow. Leaves drop, accumulate, become food for smaller and smaller creatures and eventually become soil, returning nutrients. Predator and pest keep each others' populations in check. Animals forage, encouraging plant growth with pruning and manure. And so on ad infinitum. It's a **resilient** system, aka 'robust' in engineering terms. Everyone has their needs met, and there is no waste. Yep, no trash pickup.

At the other end of the spectrum is industrial agriculture. Like highways, it is designed for machines: single species crop (mono-cropping) extends for miles, like a buffet table for pests, thus pesticide. It needs nourishment, thus fertilizers. The runoff pollutes waterways, degrades and erodes soil. Aside from our bodies, these chemicals eventually pour into rivers and oceans, upsetting their eco-systems. To top it off, agri-industry depends on carbon emitting fossil fuels!

Permaculture practitioners plant '**food forests**' – trees for fruit, building materials, fuel, forage, shade, climate control, privacy etc; animals for food and fertilizer; herbs and flowers to attract pest eating and pollinating beneficial insects, earthworks to catch rainwater etc. It's a rich, rooted living based on the understanding of diversity. And let's not forget the rich permaculture of human relationships – parents and children, siblings and cousins, uncles/aunts and nephews/nieces, friends and neighbors, mentors and caregivers. Strong connections with others make us feel secure and loved, and thus less stressed and healthier. Spend time with friends and family!

Sources:

Gaia's Garden: A Guide to Homescale Permaculture by Toby Hemenway,

The Permaculture Handbook: Garden Farming for Town and Country by Peter Bane

Yes Magazine Issue 64

Dirt: the Erosion of Civilizations by David Montgomery


	23. Many Uses of Lamb

A/N – Another round of thank you to all those who are following, have liked and/or reviewed my stories:

LesleyAnn87, WhiteOreos, Kanna-yamamoto, Luna-Weasley123, Recey2010, cutiepie, Ceffylgwyn, Druidarcher, Elladanct, Em-Jaye, , Padfootcc, Sarasva, Gunslinger1204, Peacewithinchaos, Selene344, Ammaviel, Shygirl, Kateheartspeace, Calaisforever, Paddy & Moony's Angel, Jeanette K, Shinkirin, RayC736, Wyldekat, ZabuzasGirl, Under Your Spell, masqueraderose, spyro flavored skittles, ButtonsXD, Laura Reading XOX, Sarmatian Waod, jigokunooujo, damonadark hunter fan 69, Beloved of Darkness, Demofnight 66, Hanane El Mokadem, Scottishgal 12, Bandit 32, Casey 21791, choirbandgeek, Courtney 212, passing whisper, twisted guiter, orlliiie, Devemo 29, Freedom rings in a howl – whew!

Your reviews help me write better. Muchos gracias!

Ceffylgwyn – I understand your frustration but as Gandhi said, 'be the change you want to see in the world.' Do good acts, no matter how small and in no time you will look back to see others following you.

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It had been a morning full of revelations for Tristan. The preoccupied scout nearly bumped into Two. She was breathless with exertion, and excitement, about being entrusted with an important message from Dani.

'She said to tell you,' Two said conspiratorially, 'that she wagered a silver _denarius_, and lost.' Tristan frowned, perplexed.

'Where is she?' he asked.

'Waiting for you at Flora's,' replied the girl, bright with curiosity. 'What's a _denarius_?'

'Um .. a fancy coin,' Tristan replied, and added before she could open her mouth again, 'Percy needs you at the clinic.' Even before the girl turned to go, the scout was striding away towards town where Flora's husband ran a tavern cum inn. The woman was a friend of Dani, as well as a source of town gossip, the tavern being a gathering spot for visitors as well as locals. The mention of 'silver _denarius_' puzzled him. Less than a year ago, he and the Persian woman had followed the trail of a stranger at Badon and found him to be a Saxon spy with looted silver to spend. Time and again the man had eluded them.

The dark skinned woman was easy to spot even in the crowded inn. The place thrummed with rumors, news, arguments and bellows for food. Members of the town militia, both retired veterans and untried youths, were present in number as were civilians. Tension showed in their faces and postures, and in nervous hands poised over weapons. Even some of the women carried daggers belted on one hip; the influx of refugees around the fringes of town had added to the unease. Tristan acknowledged a few nods, ignored nudges and stares and went to join his wife in a corner booth where she chatted with Flora. He nodded courteously at the older woman. Flora took the hint and left.

'Why are we meeting here?' asked Tristan, looking around at the noisy, nosy crowd.

'I came to say farewell to Flora,' she replied brightly.

'You needed the whole morning?' asked the knight, feeling irritated. There were things he had wanted to discuss with her, privately, but events kept intruding.

'We are waiting for someone,' Dani answered, hailing a serving girl to order a meal. 'Look happy.'

'We'll have Falernian,' Tristan said to the serving girl, passing her a few coins in advance. Falernian wine was expensive and she would likely have to fetch it from outside the inn. They would be left alone for a while. It had occurred to him finally that Dani had stumbled onto something. Under the brightness he could detect tension. She leaned forward and clasped his hands over the table. A longing to hold her overwhelmed him but this was too public a place for his taste. Besides, women publicly embracing men were the ones available for money and Dani always carried herself with dignity in public. He settled for bringing her fingers to his lips. They smelled of wood smoke and charcoal.

'Your leg seems better,' Dani commented apologetically. 'I am sorry I had to leave early. Aili assured me that it was much better than it looked - some nasty scrapes and bruises – and that you would recover better with sleep.'

'I did,' Tristan replied, flexing the knee. The crowd was thinning – it was past midday meal for most - and people close to them had lost interest. It was just one of the knights and his woman having a meal. He looked at her expectantly.

'I went out early this morning to make an offering,' she said. 'On a whim, I went North through the Trade Gate.' Locals had dubbed one of the small gates in the Wall for foot traffic the Trade Gate. It usually saw a limited amount of foot traffic – hunters, trappers and traders coming to Badon for business, tribesman visiting kin, small patrols going out to keep the nearby woods clear and such. Over the years most of the faces had become familiar. Even then, Tristan had a couple of sentries posted to question all travelers and occasionally followed up on them. Goods also traveled North but he turned a blind eye unless it involved weapons. If Pict villagers wished to buy Roman trinkets, who was he to judge?

'I know,' said Trstan, 'go on.'

'Traffic has been busy since morning,' she continued. 'Soldiers have been out keeping the road clear for Arthur. Stragglers are still coming in, by the way, more refugees. And a rather large party of Woads too I hear.' She looked as though she would question him about it.

'I have seen them,' Tristan interrupted. 'You ran into someone?'

'Cara,' Dani answered, 'she's one of Madam Julia's next door.' Madam Julia ran the largest brothel in town. Tristan shrugged. He didn't doubt that away from their wives Picts enjoyed visiting the girls too. What they earned some spent freely. Though it was unusual for a whore to venture out North, the scout saw nothing amiss. He wondered where this was going.

'Maybe she has a lover,' he shrugged again, 'or kin.'

'Cara spent a lot of time with the spy last summer,' Dani informed him, and Tristan's senses came alert. 'The other girls were put off because she had been showing off his gifts – brooches, bracelets - and putting on airs. Lately she has been boasting that she'll soon have more, even a husband and home of her own. I followed her in the woods this morning.' Tristan understood finally. It made sense for the spy to enlist someone inside town, such as an impressionable and foolish young whore, to continue to supply him with information.

'What reason did she give to the sentries for being out?' he asked.

'She didn't go out through the Trade Gate.' Dani replied and waited for him to digest this. Of late the auxiliaries manning the Wall had been spread thin and some of the watchtowers had even been closed down. No one, however, ventured out North without cause, and even then they used only the manned gates and followed well-traveled routes. Woad territory was not safe owing to predators both two legged and four. For a girl to sneak out, alone, smelled of treachery. That she had found a way out was alarming. A way out was a way in.

'Is she the one you are meeting?' he said, straightening up and casting a look around, noting that the crowd had trickled to a few groups clustered around some of the tables. The serving girl was back. Falernian wine arrived and was served with a flourish. Dani made small talk about changes in the menu – the cook was leaving after falling out with Flora, the undercook was suspected of thievery and the serving girl was bursting with details about the tension in the kitchen though a tad inhibited in the silent knight's presence – and finally ordered goat cheese and bread. Tristan's mind went blank listening to the breathlessly narrated kitchen drama so he missed the addition to their table.

'Useful creatures – goats,' said the newcomer as he found a stool for himself. 'Don't you think?'

'Nervic,' said the knight with a small sigh. The man was everywhere.

'Goats?' asked Dani, mystified.

'A starving wolf will eat an old goat,' Nervic replied with a wink for Tristan, 'but a lamb is much better at luring him out in the open.' Dani looked at both men but neither seemed inclined to elaborate.

'Speaking of lamb, do you have lamb stew? Braised Lamb?' The cavalryman asked the serving girl. 'No? Bread and cheese then.' Dani waited until the gossipy girl went away. The inn's large tavern was near empty by now.

'Well?' she prompted.

'I could get used to the food here,' Nervic told them. 'You have variety here at Badon. A man gets tired of fish.' A cavalry officer stationed at the coastal fort of Segedunum, he had obviously spent as much time sampling the local cuisine at Badon as enlisting recruits. He was a man who enjoyed whatever life had to offer.

'I wasn't asking about the food,' Dani said.

'Shouldn't you be with Arthur, turning his head?' Tristan asked sharply.

'Merlin can do that,' the other man replied, tongue in cheek.

'Merlin?' asked Dani, a trifle annoyed at being ignored. 'Where?'

'What is he doing here?' Tristan asked her, more than a trifle annoyed. He liked Nervic but the man was constantly underfoot, meddling. 'Did you question this Cara?'

'No, I followed her,' Dani went back to explanations, 'back into town. Whoever she was meeting didn't show up apparently. She uses a boarded up old watchtower where part of the Wall is broken and a tree is growing through a cracked door. I asked around about who else patronizes her regularly and then asked Nervic to look up those men. Nervic has friends among the townsmen.'

'No doubt,' Tristan muttered, picking up his neglected drink. Nervic was likeable enough but he was also a Briton. Even though the cavalryman was a highland Pict and the townsmen were lowland Celts, they had a connection – a bond - that the Sarmatian knight could never have. Nor would he ever admit to the slight pang of envy. Dani had her wench network, Nervic his Woad network; all Tristan had was a henpecked apprentice. He knew when to concede defeat.

'You have news?' he asked grudgingly.

'Indeed,' replied Nervic, 'the delectable lamb is but a go-between for a few disaffected men in town who think by cooperating with Saxons they might survive, even profit.'

'Marius thought so too,' Tristan said grimly. 'He lies buried out there, his villa in ruins.'

'Fear makes men desperate,' Nervic replied. 'They fear abandonment.'

'Arthur will never abandon people who look to him for protection,' Dani stated with firm belief.

'And you, Sir Tristan?' Nervic asked slyly, smoothing his flowing mustache.

'I want to know who these disaffected men are,' Tristan replied, 'and what they are plotting. How do they plan to aid the enemy?' His own plans were a private matter, not for discussing in front of the way too perceptive half-Briton.

'I know of one man for certain,' the cavalryman shrugged. 'Time has been short.'

'Then I will question him,' Tristan said, making a move to stand, 'starting with this Cara.'

'Tristan, you will only alarm them,' Dani warned him. 'We don't know how many there are. If Cara knows one way out, there may be other ways. Besides the town is crawling with refugees. There's no telling who is who.' Tristan sat back down suppressing his frustration. He could not disagree with her urging for caution even though he itched to act. He forced himself to take stock of the situation.

Within a day at most, Saxon army would arrive at the Wall. Any defense by the militia, and evacuation of families, would require unity and discipline. The town was full to bursting with strangers – hungry, injured and desperate - and Tristan's deputy was being sorely tried managing order. The situation was made worse by the fact that members of previously warring tribes found themselves sharing quarters cheek and jowl, dependent on the largesse of unhappy townsmen. At the best of times, native Britons were a volatile fractious lot, and it was not the best of times. If the refugees included Saxon recruits and they were alarmed, they could rouse the restless mob to a riot or worse. It would be like lighting a haystack. The knight sat back down thinking furiously as food arrived.

'You said something about using lamb as a lure,' he said. 'She carries messages, does she?'

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Author's note:

Hope you like the bit of cloak and dagger. I kind of liked Tristan and Dani's spy action from the prequel (New Friends, New Enemies) and thought I'd do a little encore.

The silver _denarius_ was the currency of the Roman Empire for several centuries. Beginning with the 1st century AD it was being debased (devalued by mixing base metals or reduced in weight). Merchants correspondingly increased prices to get their value in silver; thus inflation followed. Increased military and bureaucratic expenditure led to its continued debasement, finally leading to currency collapse. By end of third century AD, the silver _denarius_ was no longer minted, and bronze and copper coins became common currency. Silver _denarii_ gradually disappeared from circulation as people started hoarding them. Hoards have been discovered in Britain. Atlas of the Roman World by Cornell and Mathews etc

Enjoy a break from the lectures!


	24. The Lion and the Lamb Redux

A/N

Chapter 24! I didn't expect to get this far but your reviews have helped me with ideas, so please keep them coming. Long awaited explanations are coming up and lots of angst. But first…

KHP – interesting point you made in your review of last chapter. I never thought of Dani as more intelligent than Tristan. I think of Tristan as logical and direct, and Dani as intuitive and lateral thinking. Plus she has access to women's gossip, which goes over Tristan's head anyway, like the serving girl's chitchat. Nervic is likeable to men and can gain their confidence. I thought this was a good example of the strength of diversity :D

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The girl was young, only a few years older than Bors' eldest, pretty in a pale delicate way. Flora's maid had fetched her to one of the rooms for a 'private customer', and now she sat on the room's narrow bed twisting a gaudy too large bracelet on her wrist and looking hunted. Across from her on a couple of stools sat Dani and Nervic, Tristan looming behind them. She didn't even dare look at the knight. For all its far-reaching implications, her tale had been short.

'He said he would marry me,' she whimpered, 'that he was a nobleman's son, that I would be a lady.'

'Cara, the nobleman was buried this morning,' Dani said gently, 'dead through his own son's treachery.'

'He said he would keep me safe.'

'There are refugees in town, girl,' Nervic put in, 'have you not heard their stories? No one will be safe from Saxon army. Have you no family you care for?' The girl shook her head mutely, a picture of misery.

'Only my mother,' she added at Nervic's prompt, 'dead last three years.' But not before indoctrinating the daughter in her profession, judged the knight shrewdly. A whore's daughter seldom found another profession, not that it made him feel any kinder.

'Your man is using you,' he said sternly in a level voice. The girl looked up with sudden spirit.

'He said the town will fall,' she spat, 'that the knights are leaving, Commander Artos is leaving us. Aren't you?'

'Saxons want this land for their own kind,' Tristan told her gravely even though his patience was being sorely tried. 'They will not spare anyone, even traitors.' Cara stifled a cry at the word 'traitor'. There was a long silence after, broken by an occasional sniffle.

'How do you take messages?' the knight asked finally.

'They give me packages to leave for him, food and clothes,' Cara whispered. 'Please, Sir Knight, I am afraid of what they will do if I betray them.'

'Tell us who they are,' Dani put in quickly. 'We can protect you.'

'I don't know,' the girl muttered unhappily. 'I know only the one, the same one he knows.' She nodded towards Nervic. Tristan glanced at Dani, knowing that they shared the same thought – no time to track them down. Abruptly he came to a decision.

'You will tell me where you leave messages,' he told the girl.

'And then what?' she asked a bit querulously.

'Then you will forget this conversation took place,' Tristan's quiet voice and even stare held menace.

'What he means is – tell no one,' the Persian woman added more gently. 'For your own safety, no matter what happens. Do you understand?' Cara nodded, dry eyed and mute. Her face showed understanding that she had gotten herself into deeper waters than she had thought. Her defiance gone, she looked younger still.

'What if they f..find out?' she asked fearfully.

'Just go about your business,' Nervic put in, 'I will keep an eye on you, girl.'

'Which is more than you deserve,' Tristan added bitterly, walking over to the second floor room's lattice window to look down. Small knots of people were gathered around the town's small square and the knight wondered which of them were spreading treachery. 'You condemn those people … for a few baubles.'

'Done is done,' Nervic said with a sigh, 'come, I'll take you back.'

'I never meant to hurt anyone,' Cara whispered, pausing at the doorway before leaving. 'I just wanted to be someone … respectable.'

After Nervic had taken the girl away - prattling to put her mind at ease - Dani sat back on the bed locking arms around knees and looked to Tristan.

'I know you are angry, and frustrated,' she said quietly, no trace of her usual mischief evident on her thin olive skinned face, 'but try to understand.'

'Understand what?' growled the knight, thinking irritably that the girl had got away lightly. She had confessed to collecting information about the preparations in the fort – from her customers – and passing them on to her contact. She was clearly illiterate but the network of men using her was not. The scout longed to throttle her.

'That she is seventeen, and alone,' Dani said, 'as I was once.'

'You have never told me about it,' Tristan said in surprise, sitting back on the bed also. When Dani had arrived at Badon with the Baltic knights one year ago, she had told them of how she had been separated from her Persian tribe and ended up in Roman – and enemy - hands. A party of her tribesmen had been ambushed by a Roman patrol but neither side had the advantage. The leader of the tribal party had negotiated an exchange - one warrior for the freedom of the rest – in lieu of further bloodshed. A warrior in good condition always fetched a good price and the commander of the Roman patrol had agreed. Dani had volunteered in place of the warrior chosen, for she was to have been outcast from her tribe anyway. She had expected a short, brutal life as a Roman slave but instead events had transpired to make her a quasi-auxiliary - and honorary older sister to a pack of Sarmatian boys - attached to a Balkan cavalry unit. Remnants of that unit had come to Arthur after a bloody battle had reduced their number and killed their commander Julianus Marcus, a man they had grown to respect.

'I betrayed my tribe,' she told him, looking stonily at the opposite wall. 'I was an orphan, always on the fringes. I longed for acceptance. I thought I found it, with a young hunter from a neighboring tribe.'

'Go on,' Tristan said gruffly, seeing her fall silent.

'He was only using me,' she resumed in a flat voice that she used when recalling painful things. 'The stronger tribes steal children, to sell as slaves. While I slipped away to meet this man, two boys were taken. I was to have been guarding the children picking fruit that day in the orchards.'

'Then what happened?' Tristan prompted again, feeling strangely hollow. Here was a side to Dani he never knew. The woman he knew took her responsibilities very seriously. He also knew that within tightly knit nomadic tribes – including his own - where everyone depended on one another for survival, responsibilities were sacrosanct, especially for a warrior as she had been. A warrior was esteemed by his tribe, not just for the weapons he carried or his skill with them, but for his commitment to protect his people. In some way the knight's orderly mind could not begin to quantify, a warrior was the soul of his people and the face they showed to the world.

'Maybe we could have tracked down the boys but I was a coward. I lied. I was found out. I ran away. I was caught, in Roman lands,' she replied in a voice thick with self-loathing. Tristan was chilled. From what little he understood of Dani's religion, the penalty for deception was severe. Her people revered Truth.

'Men of my tribe died fighting the Roman patrol,' she continued in a stronger voice. 'That's when I knew no more of my people must be taken in my stead. At least I was left unmolested for the slave market. When I was sold to that _lanista_, I surely expected to die, soon. I saw such horror and despair, my troubles scarcely seemed to matter anyway. Then I met Percy and I wanted to live, to become someone else I didn't hate so much.'

Tristan found himself gripping her hand, feeling some of her agony. The tension in her rigid pose heightened the tension of impending invasion fairly humming in the air. They sat in silence for a long time while the scout stroked her braid and tried to digest this startling new revelation. She had carried much weight on her slender shoulders through much time, distance and trials. He understood now her instinctive bond with Guinivere, protectors both. Once more he was shocked into realization how ephemeral is life, how precious friendship, how much strength could reside in the warrior spirit. Why was it that time kept running out?

'You have been wanting to talk,' she broke the silence, 'about leaving.' As usual Dani stated baldly the thorny topic lay between them. The scout now knew it was not possible, not yet, just as he knew why his wife insisted on picking up Lucan on that trip North long ago, why she continuously spoke up for the refugees.

'How did Commander Marcus die?' Tristan asked instead. If the woman was surprised at the change in topic, she gave no sign.

'It was a disastrous raid. He was injured. Percy could do nothing, for him or the others. He blames himself still.' Tristan had nothing to say in reply.

'We'll keep Arthur safe, I promise,' he said finally, 'we'll find those men.'

'But there's little time, and you're so slow,' she said, trying to return to her usual teasing. Something else sparkled in her eyes as well, and the knight took it as an invitation to kiss her. 'Slow to understand, slow to act, slow to react….'

'I am getting better,' he admitted. 'I paid the maid not to disturb us.'

'I hope so,' she replied, stretching out of her stiff pose, 'for this room cost me yet another favor with Flora.'

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A/N – I had to come up with a suitably heinous crime for Dani.

KHP – I hope you are satisfied that Tristan and Dani get to (finally) kiss.

_Lanista_ is someone who ran a stable of gladiators. _Lanistae_ could own a small troupe, or oversee for a wealthy patron. Gladiators were drawn mostly from the ranks of criminals, slaves and prisoners. Desperately poor free people also contracted with _lanistae_. Gladiators received food, lodging and medical treatment in return for fighting several times in a year. Life of most gladiators ended brutally. There is evidence of female gladiators, from the book 'Gradiatrix' by Amy Zoll.

** **Serious Stuff** **

Reading the other fanfics had me thinking for a while about the way the Roman soldier is portrayed, as the rather brutal fist of the empire. In reality, Roman legionaries signed on for a physically demanding twenty-year stint, a large part of it spent in foreign lands. For some it was the only way out of poverty. Desertion, cowardice and even disobedience were punishable by death. Under-performing units were punished by 'decimation' - randomly choosing one man in ten to be killed by his fellows (the word 'decimate' comes from _decimus_, meaning 'tenth'). To toughen men, some generals subjected them to harsh weather conditions and many died due to exposure. During service they were not allowed to marry and most of their service years were spent among hostile peoples. It was these professionals, however, who made it possible for the empire to develop arts, literature, philosophy, roads and architecture that we still travel to Italy to admire. They were also humans and individuals who were put in extreme and inhumane situations.

Sources:

'Hadrian's Wall in the Days of the Romans' by Embleton and Graham

'A Roman Fort' by Stephen Johnson

'A Roman Fort' by Fiona McDonald

'The Roman Army' by Dyan Blacklock

'Your Travel Guide to Ancient Rome' by Rita Markel

An article I read a while ago had me thinking about the ambivalent attitude we have towards the soldier, despite our culture's love of action movies and games. 'Heal the Warrior, Heal the Country: Breaking the Cycle of War Making' by Andrew Tick helped me to write Dani's back story. In it he writes about how a 'warrior' – as opposed to a professional paid soldier in a modern day armed force - was an integral part of traditional societies.

Such a warrior was primarily a protector. These societies recognized that a warrior returns from battle 'tainted' by the acts he commits, witnesses and has inflicted upon him, and he can bring this taint back into his own society. Thus a warrior only went into battle when his people's existence was threatened, i.e. he had no conflict in his heart about why he fought. In addition there were rituals to transfer his acts to the society he served and rituals to purify him before he could return to the fold, and thus the warrior in such societies did not experience post-traumatic stress disorders seen commonly today. The author concludes that when the larger society and its leaders take responsibility for wars, the cycle of war making can be ended and its warriors can be healed. Something to remember as we remember fallen vets this Memorial Day weekend. I would add that when we, each of us, acknowledge our own contribution to environmental damage, perhaps we can begin to close that gap also. Have you talked to a plant today?


	25. Young and Young at Heart

A/N – a slow chapter for a change of pace. Enjoy!

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Dusk came early this time of the year and it was late afternoon when Tristan finally found some time to himself. He wished for a bath but ruefully decided there wasn't enough time. He had been North of the Wall following up on Cara's directions to the meeting place where she was used to leaving messages and supplies for the Briton traitor, her lover. Tristan had to admit it was a clever arrangement. The upper branches of the ancient densely canopied tree offered excellent perches for resting and observing activities inside the fort and the surrounding area. It was obviously well used – there was even a seat of sorts. His abused knee still protested the climb, worthwhile though it had been.

On his return he met with Senna –who had been busy with his large staff - to apprise him of the unexpected development. He also relayed a request from Lord Marius' wife Fulcinia for food and medical supplies for refugees. Dani had told Tristan how that lady had taken charge of the survivors from her husband's estate. She cared for the people who worked her late husband's land, and it was clear they looked to her. The administrator had listened carefully, making no comment about the small grin Tristan hadn't been able to wipe away all afternoon.

'You have a plan,' Senna said instead.

'The beginnings of one,' Tristan admitted.

Dani had long disappeared on errands of her own. She would put in appearance soon enough though as Arthur had called the company to supper, and goodbye, thankfully minus the Bishop and his party. As he left Senna, Tristan wondered how the British knights would react, Lancelot in particular. Privately he thought that Lancelot's mercurial temperament, constitution for ale and penchant for settling arguments with his fist or blade would make him an excellent Briton, and the thought brought on yet another small grin.

In the flickering light of torches, the fort was a beehive of final preparations, and goodbyes. Early next morning a caravan would leave with families going South, some for safer locations and others for the coast. Gates into town had been thrown open and people thronged everywhere – strangers, acquaintances, even a few friends. Auxiliaries and men of the town militia mingled – albeit warily - with Woads; Merlin was making good of his promise.

Despite his urgency, Tristan slowed down, wanting to commit the place to memory and give his throbbing knee some rest. On a street he saw Cunomori' apprentice talking animatedly with Ganis, one of the villagers from Marius' estate. Ganis, he recalled, had been itching for a chance to fight and lent help to Jols on the trail. Cunomori – an acid tongued shaven-headed old Pict who ran a leather goods store Tristan patronized - stood with the younger men, caressing the shaft of an old war spear and looking happy for the first time the scout had seen. Young men, the scout thought wryly, and men young at heart think war is glory.

Tristan moved along briskly towards the knights' stable, not stopping to speak to his young apprentice friend but acknowledging him with a nod. As he had told Senna, he had the beginnings of a plan but no idea as yet how to set it in motion. He wanted solitude to think but finding solitude in the bustling little fort was not easy.

'Hello girl,' the scout greeted his mare affectionately; Grey hung her head over the stall door and looked at him with intelligent eyes. Tristan scratched and petted her, but the animal was more interested in his pocket, where she could smell an apple core. Laughing, the knight offered it to her.

'You're in a good mood, Sir Tristan,' Gilly poked his head out from one of the inner stalls where he was combing a dappled old gelding the size of a pony. The gelding looked out of place among the much larger warhorses. The boy looked glum.

'And you are not,' the knight observed, adding by way of thanks, 'Grey looks well.' The once unsocial knight had become familiar over the past year with Bors' two eldest – Gilly and Two. Dani had made a gift of her old gelding Merak to Gilly in exchange for his help with her new mare and a filly she had acquired. Jols noticed the boy's aptitude with horses and apprenticed him in the knights' stable. Two had apprenticed to the healers and worshipped Dani. The young siblings were responsible and levelheaded, and the knight approved of them. Thus he was surprised to see the sullen look on Gilly's face.

'Da, he told me to hitch Merak to Ma's cart, make ready to leave tomorrow,' the boy confided. 'Da always said he'd stay, and Dagonet with us.' Tristan recalled Bors talking with Dagonet about staying on in Britain and founding a town. He and Vanora had a head start already populating a small village; the knight pressed his lips together to suppress another smile.

'That was before the Saxons,' he reminded Gilly gravely instead, 'and Dagonet at death's door.'

'But it's my home!' the boy said bitterly, 'we should be here, fighting.'

'Do as your father says,' the knight returned harshly, frowning at the outburst. Self-control was the first and foremost lesson the Sarmatians learned, and fourteen year old Gilly was at the age when some of them had left home. The boy stammered out an apology and left. Tristan shook his head wondering if it had ever occurred to Bors that his own children might balk at leaving their island home. Apparently the knights weren't the only ones facing conflicting choices. Seeing no one else in the stable, the knight relaxed and turned his attention once more to the mare - talking to her often cleared his mind. He needed a clear mind now.

'Be glad you didn't have to smell me,' he continued his monologue, thinking back to his time on the trail with Eagan and his little band of saboteurs intent on delaying the Saxon march. Now he could appreciate the humor of that situation, and feel grateful he had not had any more of the disturbing visions he had experienced on the trail.

'Senna did mention something about cow dung,' Eric said cheerfully, walking in with an armload of saddlebags. Gault followed, limping but looking much improved. He had taken a bolt to the thigh during the recent journey North. 'Want to tell us? I didn't think so.'

'When is Arthur expecting us?' Tristan asked calmly, as usual ignoring the silliness and suppressing irritation at being interrupted again.

'At the usual dinner hour,' replied the older of the other two, leaning against a pillar, 'in fact we came looking for you. He asked us all to attend. There is important announcement, it seems.'

'We can guess what that is,' Eric said grunting as he loaded the saddlebags onto benches along the wall and checked sundry straps and buckles. It was standard practice to keep several kits of travel supplies in the stable so that the knights could ride out at short notice. The kits were replenished right away at return, a job that usually fell to the junior most. 'He means to stay and fight this Cerdic, not that Lancelot will be happy about it.'

'Neither should you be,' said his companion, rubbing his injured leg. Gault was a serious young man and given to worrying. 'It could mean a siege, and we practically invited them. Not that we can stand against … how many did you say they were, Tristan?'

'Many,' replied the scout vaguely, his eyes focused elsewhere. Seeing the two here had triggered a train of thought he was intent on following. Finally he felt as though pieces of the plan he had discussed with Senna were sorting themselves. 'Where are we meeting Arthur?'

'At Vanora's,' Eric replied.

'Where it's sure to be crowded, and gloomy,' added Gault. 'The fort gates are being kept open tonight. People want to see Arthur, talk to him. I don't like it.' Everyone felt uneasy in the presence of a frightened mob of strangers but Arthur had ordered the fort open. This was something Tristan didn't like either but lately the commander had been closeted with the Woads, listening to their counsel.

'You never like anything,' Eric told Gault, 'until there's a few mugs in you.'

'With a few mugs or without,' Gault replied in disgust, 'you're still an idiot. There'll be men looking to make trouble.'

'Arthur could use your help then,' Tristan interrupted their argument. Aside from the usual exasperation, he felt a restrained affection for Eric, the only one of the younger quartet who was comfortable with their quiet and deadly scout, even though the boy made him feel positively old at times. 'A cheerful story to divert the crowd, perhaps the one about Aquileia.' The Baltic knights had traveled the continent from near the shores of Black Sea to come to Britain, and the much-embellished stories told by Eric and Gault were wildly popular with the dinnertime crowd at Vanora's. Both of them brightened at the prospect of retelling their adventures to an appreciative audience.

'You actually listened?' Eric asked. Tristan was saved from having to admit to it by a warning gong going off somewhere on the Wall. Without a word, all three of them hurried out of the stable, Gault limping as fast as able, and went to the nearest watchtower. The gong was rarely sounded, and rarely ignored. The sentry - when he spotted serious danger - rang it to summon senior officers.

The rest of the Sarmatians were already up on the parapet, along with on duty sentries, jostling for a view. Rag tag refugees stood below in streets and courtyards, clustered and wide-eyed, straining ears in the sudden silence to hear what they could not see. Tristan's grin finally disappeared as a feeling of déjà vu swept over him: an army was pouring out of the forest to the North like a shadowy tide of malevolent insects, torchlight gleaming off helmets and breastplates. Somewhere among them moved a man – a ruthless and shrewd adversary – who had vowed to kill Arthur and thereby decapitate native resistance. Aiding him was another who had a network of spies in Badon. Columns of enemy slid past each other; the scout narrowed his eyes and considered them as he would abstract gaming pieces.

A flurry of salutes announced the arrival of Arthur Castus. He ran up the steps, Guinivere at his heels, both of them looking disheveled. A detached part of Tristan's mind noted that he had been correct in guessing her choice. Without a word, Sarmatians moved back to let their commander have an unobstructed view of the Saxon army.

'My friends,' Arthur turned back to the waiting crowd - including his men at arms - to say, 'my journey with you must end here.' The scout had known as much already but the words were still jarring in their finality. To Lancelot they were like a thunderclap. The First Knight followed Arthur down the steps and across the courtyard, arguing angrily, and futilely. After Arthur left, the curly haired knight looked as though he would take out his anger on Guinevere until Tristan stopped him with a clap to the shoulder.

'Lancelot, let it go,' the scout said quietly. The other man was surprised enough to comply. He and the scout were not exactly friends. On the streets, members of the militia were shooing people away back to wherever they could find rest, or prepare for whatever was coming the next day. 'Walk with me to Vanora's.'


	26. A Last Supper

A/N – finally some action!

Ceffylgwyn – glad you like the small humor. I think it makes our old scout more human.

KHP – even I needed a break from my history lessons! I thought the one from last chapter was heavy on the digestive system already so skipped one chapter. Not to worry – making up with this one. In fact I've been waiting to write this one for a while. My hope is that some of you will be intrigued enough to delve into these topics. Just a disclaimer – although I try to be meticulous, there may be unintended mistakes in my research, and opinions expressed are my own.

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The tavern was fuller than usual, a nervous edgy expectant energy permeating the air. Auxiliaries and civilians alike surreptitiously watched Arthur and the knights. The commander's decision to stay and fight Cerdic was obviously common knowledge by now. Equally obvious was the fact that everyone wanted to know where the Sarmatian cavalry officers would stand. It was no secret that they were the most formidable force in Arthur's command.

The knights' table held a subdued company; no one wanted to be late though Dani was conspicuously missing. Senna, sitting next to Arthur, offered his seat to Lancelot but the First Knight curtly declined with a glare towards their commander, pointedly choosing to sit next to Tristan instead. After a few loud and crude jokes, Bors gave up and applied himself to his food. Gawain had his hands full making sure Galahad didn't make a scene. Eric was similarly occupied with Gault – surreptitiously plying the latter with ale, only Percy being oblivious as usual. This did not bode well for a last supper.

Arthur opened by expressing gratitude that Dagonet was expected to recover. Bors mumbled something rude but thankfully was drowned out by a relieved murmur among the crowd. Dagonet was well loved and respected, both as a knight and as a healer. The commander toasted his friends' freedom and generously told the Baltic knights they too were free to leave with the rest of the Sarmatians; they declined. Galahad and Gawain looked troubled; Bors kept eating to give himself something to do. Lancelot held his tongue and avoided eye contact with Arthur though everyone else plainly expected further dispute; a few auxiliaries had clearly bet on it judging from the money exchanging hands. Guinivere stopped by Lancelot to press a woven leather bracelet into his palm, a sort of goodbye offering.

'For a safe journey,' she said quietly, 'whatever has been between our peoples, you deserve it, Sir Knight.'

Lancelot was clearly taken aback; the two had exchanged harsh words only this morning and Guin was not a forgiving sort. He tried to say something but words eluded him. Instead he settled instead for draining his mug and demanding a refill from a passing barmaid. He must have been truly affected for he did not even glance at the comely serving girl let alone accost her in his usual fashion. Despite Arthur's further promise to stay and assurance to defend the town, gloom was descending on the crowd, judging from the muted chatter that followed. Tristan directed towards Eric a speaking stare.

'Gloom and doom is for tomorrow,' the young knight banged his mug on the table and cheerfully called out, 'for now, who wants to hear a story?' A resounding cheer went up. Eric and Gault, a large audience following, moved to an adjoining table. By now Gault looked jovial; presumably a few mugs had improved his mood. And yes, they were retelling their adventures in Aquileia with practiced punch lines, imitations and pantomime, which never failed to entertain the crowd, including the knights. Arthur nodded approvingly. Lancelot continued draining mugs of ale, down his gullet and down his shirt, and loudly banging for refills.

'It's always about them,' Galahad groused in disgust, 'even tonight!'

'Relax, Galahad,' Gawain told him, putting a restraining hand on his arm, 'and drink up.' Drinking had a tendency to quiet Galahad, though it also made him even more emotional.

It was the most popular of the stories told by Eric and Gault about their continental adventures. Aqueleia was a bustling port city by the sea in Northern Italia where they stopped last year during harvest season to earn some coins. Though they could stay and get a meal at army lodgings, money was always tight and necessary for things other than food and lodging. Eric, Gault and Dani had found work at a vineyard as seasonal helpers while Senna and Percy found work and lodging at a monastery providing medical aid for travelers. Aquieleia saw many travelers, plying trade and news, being the meeting place of many routes, so it was an arrangement that suited them well. They planned to spend several weeks.

The vineyard threw out the younger three after only a week. Here Eric and Gault's accounts differed. Gault claimed it was because the owner's beautiful daughter had feelings for him but her father found out. Eric let on that indeed the girl did have feelings for Gault: she was annoyed by his clumsy advances and complained to her father. Even Vanora's children had giggled at the preposterous idea of a beautiful rich young girl wanting to elope with Gault, a pleasant but plain young man of little means. Whatever the cause, none of the others had been pleased, for aside from the need to earn coins they were enjoying a pleasant stay and a break from the rigors of travel. Eric and Gault imitated Senna and Percy's reactions and then looked at them, hoping to prompt them into the story. During previous narrations, Senna often extolled the beauty of the city's architecture while Percy occasionally put in a few words about the excellent work the monk brothers were doing in advancing medical knowledge. Dani only grumbled about the fine bed she lost thanks to Gault' stupidity.

'Senna,' Eric implored, 'tell them about the forum, the amphitheater.' A few children joined in a chorus, but Senna only nursed his drink. Percy didn't even look up.

'Aquileia burns,' a clear voice spoke up from the edge of the crowd. All eyes swiveled to stare at Dani, looking tired and sorrowful. She had not had time to change and her rumpled gown added to the ragged appearance. There was a shocked silence following the announcement and puzzled looks around the knights' table. Tristan opened his mouth but Galahad, halfway drunk, beat him to it.

'What do you mean, it burns?' He asked. He never liked the attention Eric and Gault received anyway and now he felt especially aggrieved.

'Huns destroyed the city,' Senna finally spoke up, 'only a few months ago. The Bishop and his men traveled through the ruins.' Somewhere a woman gasped, a man muttered a prayer to avert bad luck.

'It's true,' Dani added, 'Horton told me. All those people, dead or gone.'

'A Roman city burns,' Lancelot's words were slurred but his snort was distinct.

'The continent burns,' Dani corrected him sharply, 'and war has now come to Britain. Don't you care?'

'All I care about,' Lancelot enunciated insultingly, 'is getting away from here.' Ignoring Guinevere's gasp – he was clearly drunk – he banged down his mug and belched for emphasis. Dani exclaimed in anger, moving towards him, batting away Gault's restraining hand. Senna got up to intervene for the woman had a fearsome temper on the rare occasions she gave vent to it. Most of the knights, likewise, were on their feet.

'You are all about you,' she hissed, matching Lancelot's scorn, 'isn't that right? No wonder Rigana wanted no part of you, except the part that would get her a council seat.' Rigana was a noblewoman in Luguvalium, a city to the West Lancelot and several others had visited only a few weeks ago to negotiate with the city's leaders. The woman had seduced Lancelot to advance herself politically. It was the usually charming knight's turn to get angry. He got up from his seat, shrugging away Tristan's attempt to grab him and staggering with the effort. His mug hit the ground and shattered.

'And what parts did you peddle,' the drunken knight sneered, 'back in that wonderous city? I'm sure it was more profitable than picking grape.' Dani punched him in the jaw but before he could retaliate Tristan was able to grab him and turn him around. All eyes strained to look at the combatants, appalled at the turn of events.

'Lancelot,' Arthur called over the hubbub, 'you're upset but that's enough.'

'Take. It. Back.' Tristan said through clenched teeth. Lancelot shook himself free. Without hesitation he punched the scout. Even while drunk his aim was true.

'Stay out of it, tattooed freak,' the curly haired knight snarled as the scout went reeling. Lancelot had once wooed Dani and had been rebuffed in favor of the company's scout, an insult he did not take lightly; nor the reference to Rigana. The two men lunged at each other but Senna grabbed Tristan and Bors shoved Lancelot out of the way. The others waded near them, hesitant and horrified.

'Cold blooded lizard,' Lancelot continued yelling while struggling to find his feet, 'apple polishing toad.' Tristan's dagger came out and his eyes flashed dangerously. The next few things happened so fast no one clearly saw how exactly they did. Lancelot threw himself at Tristan once more. Senna interposed himself in between. Tristan's dagger moved. Senna screamed and went down. Time stopped until Dani scrambled on hands and knees towards the fallen knight, lying among pieces of mug and spilled ale.

'You stabbed him, Tristan!' Dani said in anguished disbelief. A crimson stain was quickly spreading under her hands over Senna's shirt. The administrator groaned. Galahad and Eric were rooted where they stood. Gawain knelt to assist the fallen man but Percy's bulk pushed him out of the way.

'To the clinic,' said Percy, all business, 'pick up his legs, man!' The surgeon commandeered Gawain in picking up the injured man.

'How could you?' Eric yelled, pushing through and throwing a punch that staggered the scout once more. He sat down with a grunt, pain shooting up the injured knee.

'No Eric,' Dani screamed, holding on to Senna's hands, 'go find Alan.' Percy's burly manservant Alan assisted with surgeries. Eric shoved an inebriated Galahad and hobbling Gault out of the way and hurried out. All eyes now turned on Lancelot and Tristan. Lancelot collapsed onto the nearest bench and passed out with a groan. Tristan stood, shocked and dumbfounded.

'Enough!' Arthur finally raised his voice. 'Bors, take Tristan away. Lock him in his room. Galahad, Gault - dismiss everyone. The tavern is closed.' People were pouring out already - some fearful, a few delighted - on their way to spread the scandal.

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Author's Note:

Aquileia - the movie opens in 452 AD (I disregarded the added 15 years), which was coincidentally the year Huns invaded and burnt down Aquileia, an important Roman city, center of commerce and seat of regional government. Situated on the river Natissa, near the apex of the narrow Adriatic Sea, it was a meeting place of many roads coming from the rest of Europe into the province of Italia so I thought it quite plausible for Dani and her friends to travel through it. It also had an important mint, a naval base, monasteries and vineyards. It was famous in the ancient world for producing intricately designed and colored glass vessels. Survivors fled to the nearby lagoons and settled there, founding the city of Venice. I couldn't help but think what a psychological shock it must have been to people living in those times to see a cosmopolitan city like Aquileia – which had stood for 600+ years - fall. Source: internet, that wonderful fount of information

Throughout the movie the knights keep talking about getting 'away' from fighting and I kept wondering where they were planning to go 'away'. This was a time period when the Roman Empire – which included large parts of Europe – was undergoing a slow but relentless meltdown, in other words catabolic collapse. Which of course brings me to:

**** Serious Stuff ****

'Where is 'away'?' asked environmental activist Julia Butterfly Hill in an interview (I forget where - sorry).

It's a good question that we do not ask ourselves often enough. Way back in the late 80's, prominent NASA climatologist (recently retired) James Hansen brought the phrase '**climate change**' into popular use. Scientists since then have been telling us, increasingly loudly, that climate change is accelerating due to a number of interconnected human activities that **put carbon into the air** – burning fossil fuels, increasing landfills, clear cutting forests, factory farming, mono-cropping, polluting waterways with agricultural runoff, destroying species habitats, paving over vegetation to name a few. Ironically, while we have evolved towards defining 'progress' as increasing material consumption, fewer and fewer people now enjoy the benefits while more and more people suffer reduced quality of life.

The **safe limit for carbon** **in the atmosphere is** **350 ppm** (parts per million) max 'if humanity is to preserve a planet similar to that on which civilization developed, according to Hansen. On May 9 of **this year carbon level crossed 400 ppm** as recorded by the observatory in Hawaii that records atmospheric carbon levels. A few months ago there was a picture in the news of smog in Beijing, which had now crossed the charts. While hurricanes and tornadoes make front-page news, respiratory ailments, chronic disease and weakened immune systems are less visible byproducts of climate change. Sickness without makes sickness within.

While it is difficult for us to face this reality – and we do try - there is no 'away' for us either, no beaming over to Planet B. It is for our generation to redefine 'progress' within the Earth's capacities while repairing damage done, and we can only begin to do so by first educating and then challenging ourselves. Rob Hopkins, co-founder of the worldwide **Transition Movement**, talks about the '**head, heart and hands**' of transitioning towards a more balanced and socially just way of life. 'Head' refers to educating ourselves about our multiple predicaments, 'heart' refers to changing our vision of what constitutes a good life, and 'hands' refer to doing the groundwork to make that vision a reality.

We can all start with the simplest – cooking a shared meal from raw local ingredients saves money, promotes health, produces less (packaging & green) waste, consumes less (fossil fuel) energy, boosts the local economy, makes time for social interaction, teaches the next generation to value healthy eating and provides satisfaction. The solutions are interconnected too!

Sources:

'Eaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet' by Bill McKibben

News bulletins from 350, an environmental organization, and TransitionUS

'The Transition Handbook: From Oil Dependence to Local Resilience' by Rob Hopkins

Internet news

Kurt Cobb's essays on the Energy Bulletin


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